Nothing but Blood, Sweat and Tears

Whumpee being too weak to hold their head up for long and only taking a couple small sips. They then drop their head back on the pillow and breathe heavily, already tired, with their eyes closed.

Caretaker sees them wearing themselves out and reproaches them for being unreasonable. Instead of brushing it off and saying that they’re fine, whumpee sighs and looks up with a bitter smile.

They remind caretaker that nobody else can manage what they’re doing. They are the only one who is competent enough, and caretaker knows it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give for a day of rest, whumpee says, but I can’t do it.

maybe it was a team whump situation, or maybe it was just an awful journey rescuing them, but either way, whumpee's injury will simply not let them forget what had happened, every time their gazes fall on it. and the team love whumpee. they're so relieved whumpee is finally safe, no matter what that looks like now.

but they're uncomfortable. they feel guilty.

they don't know how to touch whumpee in a way that doesn't hurt, not anymore, so they don't. they don't know how to talk to someone who's been hurt so badly... so they try not to. it's not malicious, quite the opposite — it's because they care too much, and it hurts too much to see whumpee suffer.

but to whumpee, it's just confirmation that they're now broken. they see the way conversation halts around their pain, around every wince or shift. they see the way their teammates' gazes linger on their injury, or avoid looking at them altogether. they see the way everyone's walking on eggshells around them. so, they hide it. they grow quiet, withdrawn. they only allow themselves to feel the pain of it in the isolation of their room — and they stay in there, alone, more and more often. the increasingly unbearable emotional pain of it? forget about it, they're never broaching that subject. the team is better off not knowing. and perhaps, one day, the weight of having to manage everyone else's guilt and discomfort will make them snap, but for now...

oh i am ALSO a sucker for that line, and i am a general sucker for parental caretaker.

the crying, god, the begging. the fear. especially if whumpee is usually a pretty proud, put together person who hates being seen like this, or has insecurity or shame issues around wanting to see and be close to caretaker in a way that casts caretaker in a parental role in their life. but this, what's happened to them, has ripped away those defences, those walls. they're desperate, and scared, and this person is so important to them.

it's the 'not them' that's really standing out to me, too. that the worst part of their fear of being raped again is that it might be this person who hurt them. and the sheer dizzying relief of learning oh, oh, god, no, they aren't. they wouldn't. they'd never. and the disarming, shattering care they get after, when they feel safe enough to answer that question.

"What's —ah." It was to bite. She was supposed to bite it. "It isn't—Fuck —that bad is it? Agh—"

[B] didn't answer. If the searing pain had allowed [A] to turn around, she would have. Instead, she felt [C]'s hands softly coming to rest on her shoulders. The world was narrowed to her exposed back, to the texture of the cot she was lying on. To the warmth of the fire. And to pain.

It was almost unbearable. The implications of [C]'s hand resting on her shoulders came slowly. She would rather not think about it. Not imagine the hot iron that was probably in the fire. Not on her blood dripping down her back.

She tried to not shake nor turn. [C] noticed, of course. But didn't say a word, merely squeezed her shoulders in unspoken comfort.

The stranger hisses through her teeth. "Okay. It's okay." It's a strange tone for orders, but she's clearly talking to Whumpee. "Can you walk?"

Whumpee's heart drops. She knows the right choice here - the only choice.

That is, except for the shaking. They hide their hands in their pockets, but their shoulders and legs shake too. They swallow, but it doesn’t keep the trembling fully out of their voice. They sit, pretend to cough, give a reassuring smile to their friends. Whumpee is strong. Whumpee has standards to keep up with. They’re better than their body’s betrayal.

caretaker gently brings the whumpee into a hug, even as they get hurt in the process. they keep whispering how it's over, how they'll never let harm come to them again— when whumpee says, "please, not again. if this is another dream, I can't—" and it breaks caretaker's heart.

maybe they're hiding an injury from Caretaker so they don't stop running to treat it and such a decision eventually proves to do more harm than good.

Caretaker lets Whumpee take a moment from time to time so they don't simply pass out on their arms.

Caretaker can feel Whumpee growing tired and weak by the minute, slipping from their arms more often than not, and can only hope they'll get back on time.

Caretaker keeps encouraging Whumpee to stay awake: "Come on, Whumpee." "Stay with me." "Eyes on me!" "Please don't close your eyes..." "We're almost there!" "I won't lose you too, you hear me? I won't!"

Caretaker has to change the way of carrying Whumpee from one of their arms around their shoulder to piggy-back carry or even bridal style after they gradually slip out of Caretaker's grasp and fall to the ground.

or, it's only once they get to safety that Whumpee feels their legs giving up under their weight, but Caretaker's there to catch them before they can even touch the floor.

Maybe it's their captor releasing the chains, laughing as they order their lackeys to take the prisoner back to their cell. They let the prisoner fall and strike the ground with full force before roughly dragging them back to their cell. The prisoner is too weak to fight it, with the only clarity coming from the bursts of pain as they're dragged/shoved. Collapsing again as soon as the propelling hands are gone, this time onto the floor of their cell. Too weak to even crawl, they simply curl into a ball.

Or maybe it's a friend, come to rescue them, darting forwards to catch them just before they hit the ground, cradling them and gently and talking to them, trying to rouse them. The prisoner is barely conscious but recognizes the voice of their friend. Still, they're too weak to do more than maybe rasp out their rescuer's name, voice rough and ragged from screaming and lack of water. Wincing or whimpering in pain as their rescuer removes the shackles from their wrists, revealing the raw, bleeding skin underneath.

Sobbing with their hands clamped tight over their mouth, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get it over with, trying to cry it all out and force themselves numb again, but every time they think they’re calm enough to try again, another wave of grief and just…despair hits them all over again.