#implied choking

“Do you need help with your clothes?” Caretaker mutters once they are done. Whumpee just shakes their head. “Alright. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

But as soon as the door closes and Whumpee is left alone in the room, they feel… wrong. Like a part of them is missing without Caretaker close enough to touch. To see and make sure they are okay, safe, here.

With a little sigh at themself, Whumpee limps to their wardrobe.

“Why do people in movies always look amazing after they get rescued and take a shower?” Whumpee complains loud enough for the sound to travel through the house, groaning when they lift their arms to put on a clean t-shirt and the movement pulls at aching wounds. “It’s always ‘I’m a new person after the shower’, not ‘I want to go sleep for a few years because everything still fucking hurts’. So unrealistic.”

They aren't surprised when no answer comes from the living room.

Whumpee puts on the first pair of sweatpants they find and leaves the bedroom as soon as they are dressed, leaning against the wall for support as they walk towards where Caretaker sits hunched on the couch, elbows on knees, face hidden behind their hands.

They look… desolated. Still. Whumpee frowns, and although part of them wants to keep quiet and give it more time, it’s been hours since they’ve escaped. Hours since they last spoke to each other. Even more since…

“Take me! Whumper, take me. If what you want is to see them hurt, then do it to me.”

Caretaker’s eyes had never been so wide as when they danced between Whumpee’s raised chin and Whumper’s hungry eyes.

“NO. Whumper, don’t you fucking dare touch Whumpee–“

The chuckle that filled the cell was as cold as the fear that flooded Whumpee’s veins when Whumper took a step in their direction.

“Hey, are you okay?” Whumpee asks, shaking their head to blow away Caretaker’s screams from their ears.

Caretaker’s hands fall to their lap at Whumpee’s voice, head turning to them and eyes roaming over their body for a moment.

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” Whumpee smiles, taking slow steps to the armchair closest to them and clenching their teeth to hide a grimace of pain when even sitting down makes their body ache. “It’s amazing what a shower can do.”

“You took a bath,” Caretaker points out flatly, looking back down at their hands. “And you were just complaining about how much pain you’re still in.”

“I’m fine, Caretaker. Really. It was just a joke.”

But despite Whumpee's good intentions, the answer is weak – not enough to convince either of them.

“I can go check again if we have any pain meds,” Caretaker says, already getting up and turning away.

“No, wait.”

Caretaker freezes. Whumpee themself winces at the sound that came out of their mouth so naturally. It sounded... like pleading. Too close to how they had begged Whumper for mercy.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Whumpee says softly, sinking their nails into their palm and focusing on the slight twinge of pain instead of the too-tangible memory of Whumper’s hands around their throat.

“Nothing is wrong, Whumpee.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it. I can see that there’s something wrong, so just please, talk to me.”

Caretaker isn’t looking at them. Whumpee can only see their back, but tense as it is, they don’t need any help to imagine how strained their face must be as well.

“What do you want me to say?” Caretaker says hoarsely. “That everything is alright? That it’s over now that we’ve gotten out? That I can’t still hear you screaming and crying while Whumper hurt you because of me? That I haven't spent every second since you offered yourself to be hurt in my place thinking that it was my fault? That I should've protected you. That each time I close my eyes I can’t still see you with blood dripping down your back and your wrists and your arms and–“

“Stop.”

“–feel how light you weighted in my arms when I held you and you cried because they fucking tortured you and I couldn’t stop it, and–”

“I said stop,” Whumpee snaps.

Caretaker turns around at the command, wide eyes and worried face locking onto Whumpee’s sad features.

Neither of them says anything for a moment, but Whumpee can see the apology climbing its way up Caretaker’s throat, about to leave their mouth.

“Is that why you look like this? Because you’re feeling guilty?” Whumpee utters before Caretaker can.

“I…”

“Because if that’s it, then just stop right now. Caretaker, I offered myself to be tortured because I couldn’t live with the idea of seeing Whumper hurt you. I knew what would happen and I'd do it again if I had to.”

Caretaker’s face contorts with something dark, and Whumpee blinks at the anger that glints in their eyes. “And you think they didn't?” Caretaker says through gritted teeth, hands balled into fists by their side and tears welling up in their eyes. “Whumpee, I’d have chosen fucking death if it meant never having to watch you being tortured because of me.”

“I’m sorry, love," Whumpee sighs, feeling their heart shatter in their chest at the pain lacing Caretaker’s every word. "I’m sorry you had to go through that, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“You could’ve died,” Caretaker shouts, the sound so loud and raw that Whumpee feels more than hears it. A cry filled with so much horror and fear that they can’t help but jump a little. “You could’ve, could’ve left me and it’d have been my fault and I can’t do this without you, Whumpee. How could you do that? I can’t breathe knowing you were so damn close to– I hear your screams every time I stop moving and you almost, you–”

It hurts to move, but it hurts more to see the despair in Caretaker’s features. So Whumpee gets up even when their whole body aches and protests, and takes two steps to reach Caretaker and envelop them in their arms.

“It’s okay,” Whumpee whispers through the lump in their throat. “I’m okay. We got out, I’ll be okay.”

It takes only a moment for Caretaker’s arms to wrap around them too, holding tight as if to a lifeline, clutching their shirt and burying their face into Whumpee’s neck. Careful not to touch their wounds, yet desperate in a way Whumpee has only seen when there was blood on their body and manacles around their wrists.

“I’m sorry, Caretaker, I’m so sorry. I’m okay, we are both okay, I promise.”

“Don’t you ever d-d-do that again,” Caretaker sobs, voice muffled by Whumpee’s skin, but still so, so terribly scared. “Promise me. Promise you, you’ll never–”

“I’ll never do it again,” Whumpee nods, running their fingers through Caretaker’s hair, feeling them tremble against their chest. “I promise. It’s alright. We are alright.”

Caretaker nods back, and Whumpee holds them tighter, leaning their head against their friend’s shoulder and letting their own tears fall.

Nothing is right, but they are together.

Nothing is right, and Whumpee is hurt and Caretaker is, too, even if their wounds aren’t visible like Whumpee’s are. But they are together, safe, and right now, in each other's arms, that's all that matters.

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