#beanprompts

The Stars Don't Shine They Burn

Hhhhhhhhhhnnnngggg… Fine! Just this once. 

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“I’ll be right here when you come out, alright?” 

Whumper’s voice was always the last thing Whumpee heard before everything went to shit. They tried to remind themselves it wasn’t Whumper’s fault. But it was damn hard not to hate their guts when it hurt like this. 

The tests were a stepping stone on the way to a cure. A cure for humanity. Whumpee just had to suck it up. They were the ones who had begged to join the program anyway. And Whumper always said their life meant nothing when compared to the survival of the species. 

First, the new drug would go into the bloodstream. The effects of each one were always a fun surprise. The disease took over the entire body, with symptoms that varied from case to case, with a few common ones. More than just a cure, they helped develop medicine for the symptoms. Only one thing was always the same: the burning sensation spreading through their flesh as the liquid travelled. 

“Steady,” Whumper said, holding Whumpee down as they struggled against the uncomfortable restraints that held them to the table. There were still bruises where they had been held down before. The restraints weren’t enough. When the drug spread… every instinct they had yelled that they had to leave. A spasm made Whumpee try to pull their arm away and Whumper slammed them down. “Steady, now!” 

“I heard!” Whumpee spits back, trying to hold still. It was like trying to keep smoke inside. You can do it for a while, but one the burning gets too intense, builds up too high, you have to let it out or it consumes you. 

The burning was on their chest now, their breathing getting labored. Sweat covered their entire body within a few minutes. Ah, so this was what they were trying to treat this time… 

“Hey. Don’t fall asleep.” Whumper gave them a little slap to the cheek. Whumpee held back the instinct to bite them. 

“Wasn’t… planning… on it.” Whumpee managed, as their throat kept closing up. 

“I mean it. If you embarrass me, I’ll stop giving you extra pudding.” 

“No… You won’t.” Whumpee’s back rose off of the table as a new wave of searing pain crossed their chest as if scorching iron was being touched to the skin and let out a pained scream before falling back down, breathless. They felt Whumper cleaning their face with a glorious cold compress. “You… hate… pudding,” Whumpee continued, as if nothing had happened, although dark spots were swimming around their vision. 

“That’s true.” Whumper always seemed casual during these sessions. Whumpee didn’t know if it was all an act, or if they were truly this able to ignore another’s feelings. Whumper held them by the neck - not hard, but enough to cut the limited supply of air. “That doesn’t mean I can’t make your life much worse if you don’t fight.” 

Whumpee fought. They rose off the table, banged back down, revolted against the retraints until they felt blood. Whumper pulled back with a smile, raising their hands. Whumpee saw it as if they were seeing it on the other side of a tunnel. They let go, closing their eyes and focusing on their breathing. 

They opened their eyes a second before Whumper was about to slap them again. 

“One day…” Whumpee said. “W-w-when… This is all over. When this… When we get this cure…” Getting the words out was a struggle on itself, but this they had to say. “I’ll kick your ass.”“And if when we do get this cure, I’ll let you.” Whumper said, leaning closer and raising an eyebrow. “There’s an incentive to stay alive.”

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Listen, this one BROKE ME. T'was the reason for me collapse. I could not conceive of a nice whumper even WAS. I was in shambles, not thinking myself worthy of this community.

But I have returned and FACED MY FEARS. There's your nice whumper!

I went with firemen, because they are a blast. Haha! Get it! Anyway, love this trope. Thanks for requesting it.

A building had collapsed. Again. 

Caretaker barely noticed it anymore. It was just a part of living in a world of superpeople. They broke things to “save the city”, then ran off when it was time to pay the bill. And today seemed to be some major battle because the earth had been shaking more than usual and calls had been coming in from everywhere. 

Before they left, the Caretaker saw the rookies getting ready. It would be their first mission. They looked so excited: eyes gleaming, hands nervously checking their equipment. Caretaker hoped they would get a good first run: something chill, to ease them onto the job. They would have many years like Caretaker had to regret going into this career. They could have a couple of days to believe they were heroes. 

The building was pretty standard. Most people were already outside. Caretaker stayed out to help with first aid. Some of their comrades went inside to search for the rest of the victims. Everything was running smoothly: people were being put into ambulances and evacuated, bit by bit. 

Which, of course, was when the world went to shit. Figures. 

The Caretaker’s walkie-talkie blared. Their team was going to be split in two because they were the closest location to the attack. Supervillains trying to destroy City Hall. Caretaker didn’t know why they kept building that place up since it got blown up all the time. 

“Some of ours were inside.” Said dispatch as the Caretaker got into the truck. “The rookies. They were picking up donations for last week’s victims.” 

“Pets eat on the ground.” Whumpee says, like they’re tired of saying. They take the plate, rise it off the table and put it on the floor, where they sit in front of it. “A good pet knows.” 

Caretaker is still standing next to the kitchen table, hands on their hips, lips pursed, as if they didn’t know what to do with Whumpee. It had been a couple of days since Whumpee had started to recover enough to venture outside of their room. They were surprised to find themselves in a nice house - nothing like the ones Whumper would put them in to test them. But nonetheless, it simply made no sense to defy them. 

“You’re not a pet.” Caretaker says, as they did before. “You’re a person.” 

“People can be pets.” Whumpee shrugs, but their shoulders are still a little sore. They wince, but they have to finish the sentence. “A good pet knows.” 

Caretaker sighs, looking at their own plate on the table. They pick it up and put it on the floor next to Whumpee’s, sitting down. 

“What are you doing?” Whumpee takes their own plate, scooting to the side. Was this a trick? It had to be a trick. “You’re not a pet. Pets eat on the ground. People eat on the table. A good pet knows.”

“I am a person. And I choose to have dinner wherever I want.” Caretaker offers them a fork. Whumpee extends their hand, but they don’t go for the fork. Their thin fingers go to Caretaker’s neck, touching it as softly as a winter breeze. They put their head to the side, looking for signs, but finding none. 

“No collar.” 

“No collar.” Caretaker agrees. They raised their hands and touching Whumpee’s own throat. They try not to pull away. “And you don’t have one either.”

Whumpee looks down. It’s true. Whenever they got tested before, the collar always stayed on. If they tried to take it off, the test ended. 

“Maybe they just got bored of me.” Whumpee looks at their food with a sense of dread spreading in their stomach. “They always said they would get a new pet.” 

“They didn’t get bored of you.” Caretaker’s voice is hard. 

“How do you know?” Whumpee takes a deep breath, daring to look up at Caretaker’s eyes. They are icy and stony, an expression they still hadn’t seen. 

Do I really have to make a new plot for every single one of these requests? Yes. Yes, I do. Will there ever be conclusions to these plots? No. No, there won’t. 

“Boss? There’s something here you might want to see.” 

Caretaker raises their eyes from their work to one of their teammates. They’re standing at the door of the office, holding a flashdrive. 

“And what’s that?” 

“It’s the footage from that warehouse we stormed yesterday.” 

“Is there a lead to where they might have gone?” 

“No. We managed to get a couple of license plates, but that was about it. But… There’s something else in this footage. You just… You have to see it.” 

They go around the table and plug the flash drive into the computer. Thirty days of footage are divided into sixty files. The team mate clicks one of them, jumping to a certain point in time. When the cursor scrubs the player, Caretaker sees quick movements around the warehouse, until team mate finally stops. 

There is one chair in the middle of the warehouse, directly under a light. There is one person sitting on it, fighting restraints. Their face is battered, and they’re leaning like they can’t hold the weight of their own body. They raised their face, like they’re looking for a way out. Caretaker grabs the arms of their chair, losing their breath. 

“Whumpee.” They look at their team mate, looking for a confirmation. “They’re alive?” 

Whumpee had gone missing three months before. Their apartment was torn down, there was blood all over. When they weren’t found, Caretaker had assumed the worst. 

“I don’t know, boss.” They say, without moving their eyes from the screen. “But they definitely were three days ago. Take a look.” 

Someone arrives, walking slowly, cockily. Caretaker’s hands close into fists. They’d know that silhouette anywhere. 

“Whumper,” they growl. 

And it is them. Whumpee freezes when they see them, sinking into the chair. 

“Not again. I told you, I... ”, Caretaker hears, although the audio is bad. They raise the volume on the computer.

“No. No, no, no…” Whumper shakes their finger, shushing Whumpee. “You’ve told me nothing. And I told you that nothing is inacceptable. So I thought we could try something different.” 

Whumpee starts to struggle again and Caretaker feels like cheering them on like a football coach would. They know this was days ago and if Whumpee had managed to escape, their team mate would have been able to track them. But knowing Whumpee is alive again… It’s almost too much hope to bear. 

Ignoring their fight to escape, Whumper takes something out of their pocket, unravelling it. Caretaker squints to see, but from afar it looks like a strap of fabric with some sort of device attached to it. 

“What is that?” Whumpee asks, right on cue. 

“Ah, you’ll find out.” They obscure Whumpee for a second, hovering over them. Caretaker tries to see what they’re doing, why Whumpee is screaming and thrashing. Then, Whumper steps aside and Whumpee spits on the ground next to them. 

“Are you kidding?! A collar?! Did you just collar me, you sick bastard?”

“I’d say it’s what you deserve. If you had been more collaborative, this wouldn’t have to happen. I’m just trying to make ends meet.” Whumper takes something else out of their pocket and shakes it in front of their face. “Are you familiar with these?” 

“No. I’m not a psychopath! What is this shit?”

Whumper sighs. 

“It’s for other people concerned about non collaborative animals.” They press a button and Whumpee lets out a scream. Caretaker almost jumps out of their chair.  Whumper merely laughs. “Sorry, did I startle you? I think you got the gist of it now, didn’t you?”

“What kind of collar is this?” Whumpee tries to look down, but it’s too tight for them to see anything.

“A shock collar. For disobedient pets. Of course, bigger pets require bigger shocks. I had someone make some changes for me.” Whumper pushes the button again, just for the joy of it. 

Whumpee screams louder than before, their body lifting slightly from the metal chair. When Whumper let go of the button, they fell to it, breathless, head sinking forward. 

Caretaker slams their fist against the table. 

“How long does this go on for?” 

Their team mate swallows. 

“A while.” They scrub over the next scenes. The shocking goes on and on for at least thirty minutes. Team mate finally pauses. “I- What… What should we do? What are the orders?” 

Caretaker rubs their face. 

“Find them. End Whumper. What it’s always been.” 

“But… If they’re keeping hostages now… They could force us to retreat.” Team mate retrieves the flashdrive. “If it was between Whumpee and the mission… Could you do it?” 

Caretaker feels their heart twisting. It was a twist much like the ones they felt every single night they went to sleep thinking they’d never see Whumpee again, that they were gone for good. They know what Team Mate is asking, and they’re right. The mission should always be first. 

Caretaker stands up and extends their hand to their team mate. The other took it. 

“Take care of the team for me.” 

“W- What? What are you— What will you…” 

Caretaker takes out their insignia and their weapon, leaving them on the table. 

“I’m going rogue.”

Hey, bud! Thanks so much for your request and so sorry for the time I took. Shortly after your ask arrived, all of the protests started going on and I didn’t feel like doing anything painting the police in any kind of positive light (ACAB, after all). So I jumped straight for the time skip and I hope that’s enough. 

Caretaker hasn’t slept since they got there. Unlike the Whumpee, that’s done nothing but sleep. 

But it’s better. It is. Everything is better than what they saw almost a full day ago. 

The night was dark. The street lights were blinding. The rain was pouring. You could hear the whumpee’s roar over everyone’s voices, over the traffic, over the rain. Caretaker just stood there, wet to the bone, unable to take reality in. They’d dreamed about that moment so many times and yet something inside of them kept repeating “not like this. not like this”. 

Wet, their old clothes, now reduced to rags, clung to their weakened figure. Even in the low light, Caretaker could see the bruises and the needle pricks and the wounds. But above all, they could hear the scream. It came from the back of the throat, ripping the night. It didn’t have words: not “help” or “please”, to which Caretaker believe they would have responded. It was just a blind fight, a sink or swim instinct. 

The medical team had to sedate and restrain them. Caretaker wishes they’d done something, they’d stopped it. They heard the words “for their safety and ours” sometimes, but they never truly believed it. Whumpee was sweet and nimble. They couldn’t hurt a fly. They’d never…

But as time passed and they’d slowly dried up in this hospital room, reality started to sink in. This is not the Whumpee they knew. Or at least, they might not be when they wake up. The medical team tells them Whumpee might wake up any time now. 

Caretaker resumes their post, eyes heavy with sleep, mind filled with thoughts. They feel like, even if they manage to sleep, they’ll see the horrible things from the last 24 hours. The rescue, the restraining, the Whumpee laid motionless and strapped to a hopsital bed. 

The room has been so silent that when Whumpee finally shifts, Caretaker raises their head at the sound. Whumpee’s head lolls to one side and then the other, their eyes moving behind the closed lids. They start to mumble, first gibberish, then words. “No, no, no, not again”, they repeat time and time again. They try to move their hands, hold themselves, but the restraints stop them. They start fighting them, the urgency in their mumbling rising until it becomes a series of painful groans and sobs. 

Caretaker isn’t scared. After yesterday, they feel numb. Like they’re carried by a superior force, they lean down and hold the whumpee’s hands. At first they fight it blindly, but Caretaker rubs their thumbs against their skin. 

“Shh, shh. It’s alright.” Caretaker says. Like a work of magic, Whumpee stops fighting, listening. Their hands start to shake. Caretaker leaves a kiss on each of them. “I’m here, I’m here with you. No one is going to hurt you. You can rest.” 

Whumpee lets out another painful sound that ends in a sob. Their eyes fight to open, but they seem heavy. 

“This is cruel.” Their voice is still course from the day before. “This is so cruel.” 

Caretaker doesn’t know what they mean, but they let go of one of their hands and brushes the dirty hair out of their eyes, caressing their head when they’re done. 

“I’m sorry. I know it hurts. But you’ll get better soon. I’ll be with you the whole time.” 

Whumpee’s eyes finally get into focus, filling with tears soon after. 

“It can’t be, it can’t.”

Caretaker cleans one of the tears that fall. 

“But it is.” 

Last night I was having a hard time going to sleep after getting this. So many possibilities! I’m normally not one for Whumper turned Caretaker, so I had to wreck my brain around it, but I think I got a nice one! It got super long too, so I put in a read more. Enjoy! 

Looking through the bars of the door’s window, it was hard to believe Whumper was looking at Whumpee.

They have history, the two of them. Started as apprentices to the same master, until Whumper was tired of being a pet, ready to take on real power wherever they could take it. Whumpee never understood, never cared. Such high morals and for what? For starving in a dark cell. 

Whumper comes inside, hardly fighting a smile.  

“Well, well, how the winds changed. If it isn’t the Whumpee.” Whumper laughs in delight. But there is no witty remark in return. Whumpee only looks up at them, thin and shivering. Whumper looks down at the abandoned piece of bread next to them. “Ah, they told you it was poisoned… Or maybe they didn’t? I can’t remember if it was or not… Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” 

Whumper laughs again, but Whumpee is really not making this any more fun. Whumper clicks their tongue. 

“Come now! Where’s the witty banter? Cat’s got your tongue?” 

Whumpee’s eyes have anger on them, but they don’t say anything. Whumper growls and grabs them by the grubby shirt, pulling them up, pushing them against the cold wall. 

“Say something!” 

Whumpee’s eyes are scared now, which is not what Whumper wants. They want a fight. They want to earn that fear. 

“Did you kill them? Our master… Did you… How could you?” 

“Them? You’re worried about them?” Whumper laughed, slapping across the face. “I’m trying to have my triumphant moment and you’re worried about the person who ruined us?!”

“They taught us everything we know!” 

“They lied! They limited our potential!” Whumper pulls their collar until their faces are almost touching. “You stayed with them and look at where you are. The prized student. Why don’t we see who’s better?” 

Whumper lets them go, takes the keys in their pocket and throw open the chains on Whumpee’s wrists. They immediately rub their wrists, raising their confused doe eyes at Whumper. 

“Fight me.” Whumper says with a diabolical smile. “Want to know what happened to them? Get it out of me.” 

Whumpee stood there, trembling, looking from them to the door, as if they’re calculating if they’ll make it. They wouldn’t, but Whumper is glad to see the spark of a fighter. They go for is, but Whumper’s fist finds their face before they can take a step, sending them back against the wall. 

“Come on! Show me what they taught you all those years!” 

Whumpee’s mad now. Whumper can see. They raise their shaking fists, a feeble imitation of a fighting stance. Whumper pulls them with one movement, shoving their knee up their stomach. Whumpee falls back, wheezing, reaching for the walls, trying to stay upright. They’re bent in half. Pathetic. Weak. 

“This is what you abandoned me for?!” Whumpee seems about to say something, but Whumper punches them again. They’re tripping over themselves now. “This is the golden pupil?!” 

They shove Whumpee with all they have. Whumpee loses balance. Their head bangs audibly against the wall and then the floor. 

This fills Whumper with rage. Was that it? The big confrontation they waited years for?! The very culmination of all of their work?! They kick the Whumpee, once, twice. Their body falls to the side, revealing the blood coming out of a gash on the side of Whumpee’s forehead. Their eyes are closed. They’re out cold. 

“Haha! Yeah. The oldest trick in the book. How stupid do you think I am?” They walk to the chains, next to which is the untouched water and bread. They don’t think - honestly don’t remember - if the water is poisoned, but will serve its purpose. They walk back to the Whumpee and dumps the liquid on their head. They don’t move, the water lazily dripping into Whumpee’s mouth. Whumper rolls their eyes. “Fine! If you’re going to be like that, I’m leaving. I’ll come back when you’re ready for a real fight.” 

Whumper waits. They clean up the mess from their clothes. They have to hand over to their old friend: they’re committed to their role. Whumper is walking to the door when they hear a sound: a gasp. They turn around, thinking they got the Whumpee, but they’re still in the same position. The sound grows louder, like skin rubbing against glass. Finally, Whumpee moves, but it’s just their chest moving in spasms. 

“You’re kidding.” Whumper kneels down next to them, grabbing their face and turning it to the side. The water that dripped into their mouth comes out of it, mixing with the blood that’s forming a small puddle. But that doesn’t solve the problem. The sound coming from their throat grows rougher and huskier. “You have got to be kidding me!” 

They begrudgingly grab the Whumpee’s hand, looking for a pulse. But they can’t concentrate, because the sound is dimming now. When Whumper puts their hand to their nose, they don’t feel a thing. Whumpee’s chest has gone still. 

“No, you idiot! You absolute idiot! They still haven’t come for you! I still don’t have them!” They stop just short of saying they need them. It’s not true. They’re leverage - good, but not essential. And yet… Going through all this trouble would be a waste. “Help! I need a med team!”

It’d be useless. The dungeon was notorious for being deserted - so no prisoners could have contact. They’d have to take them to the med bay. 

What are they even thinking?! If this is a trick, their new master would end them. They stand up waiting. They’ll have to breathe eventually.  But as seconds pass, all that changes is their blues getting a bluish tint. 

“Shit.”

I did a lot of heart research for Blood Bags, so I decided to use some of the knowledge here and go for the first option! I really tried thinking of scenarios to make lupus or lyme work, but I just didn’t feel like I knew enough about them to portray them adequately.   Also, I’ve been doing a lot of hurt to my characters, so... Here’s some comfort!

“You really don’t have to come see my parent”, A says. “They’re fine! Besides, they don’t want you missing your classes.” 

And that’s ridiculous. How could B not go? A’s parent has been like a parent to them too since they’ve started dating. They’ve taken them into their house when they had nowhere else to go, helped them get back on their feet when they lost their parents. What was a couple of classes in the face of gratitude? And what kind of partner would they be if they weren’t there for A?

B drives through most of the night, sleeps a bit at a motel and goes right back to driving. Finally, they reach the hospital and ask for a visitor’s pass. The receptionist explains how to get to the room. 

A’s parent is ecstatic. 

“I can’t believe you’re here!” They say, opening their arms for a big hug. “A said you couldn’t make it!” 

“Me? No way! I had to come.” B pulls a chair up to the bed. A’s parent looks a little thinner than they did before, but overall alright. “You gave us quite a scare, I’ve heard.” 

“Tell me about it.” A’s parent puts a hand to their chest and takes a deep breath. “All this time and we didn’t even know.” 

“Well, how can you know when you’ll have a heart attack?” B asks, their brows furrowing. 

A’s parent stops dead in their tracks. 

“They didn’t tell you.” 

“Tell me what?” 

“Ah. Ah, sugar. Why would they do that? What an incredibly uncomfortable situation…” The parent shakes their head. 

“What is it? You’re scaring me.” B goes to the edge of their seat. 

“Ah, well… Is just that… This whole thing… It wasn’t so random. Doctors think… Doctors say it’s a… Quite a rare condition.” They mull over their words, like they’re choosing it. “It’s called a Long QT syndrome. It’s a… A heart thing. Messes with the rhythm. It doesn’t have a lot of symptoms, it just… Flares up.” 

“Ah. That’s… That’s terrible, I’m sorry.” B says, although they have a feeling that is not all. “I wonder… I wonder why A didn’t tell me.” 

A’s parent’s eyes avoid them. They clear their throat. 

“There’s really… You see, there’s really no way of knowing. Not until… Until it flares up, but it… It’s often… Often hereditary. They… We don’t know. I’d assume… I’d assume that’s why.” 

It’s like the whole hospital suddenly became quiet. The machines, the nurses, even the vending machines, perfectly still, perfectly quiet. B looks at their hands, realizing how powerless they were. They’d driven all night for a surprise and they got a surprise alright.

“Ah.” They murmur. 

The rest of the day is just as unusually quiet.