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When Whumpee was rescued after their captivity, Caretaker/the team pampered them a bit. They get them their favorite food, they watch their favorite movies together, give them treats, etc.
Whumpee felt a bit embarrassed about the pampering, but they didn't mind it at all; it shows that Caretaker/the team really do care about them after that ordeal.
Whumpee accidentally seeing Whumper out in public at the store years after their torture. Their panic starts climbing at a frightening rate as they watch Whumper pick out oranges. They canât hear anything outside of their own heartbeat, trying to figure out a way to get out before Whumper notices them.
Enjoy this story with random new ocs that started off as a vent cause disassociating is scary and the worst so I want fictional characters to also deal with it.
â-youâŠ. ok?â
Faintly they recognized a voice, what it was saying was lost on them.
Their eyes were closed. The darkness around them felt big, like a vast world. One that was easier to be in right now. Unless they focused really, really hard, they couldn't tell there was any world other than that darkness.
They weren't thinking anything but felt completely lost in thought, it was like something hadn't quite worked right. Some switch didn't flip at the right time and they were daydreaming as an action but there was no dream in their head.
The sensation of the ground below them, hot air around them, they could feel it perfectly but at the same time, none of it felt real.
Their brain kept almost working it all out, never quite getting to a solid conclusion before starting over again from scratch.
Even that feeling of being unsure they were unsure about, as soon as they thought they were almost sure about it, they never quite got there.
"Are you ok?"
There was that voice.
There was a weight on their arm, after some amount of time they couldn't quite identify, they realized it was a hand.
The hand wrapped around their forearm.
"Is there someone I can call for you?"
The voice seemed louder, it filled the darkness. Not lighting it but occupying all the space that was there. It almost hurt.
The air around them was hot, and there was solid ground under their feet.
At some point the ground moved, it was solid under their back. The air was still hot and around them.
They didn't remember the ground moving.
Their head was pounding now, that was a change. It hurt.
It hurt really bad. When had that happened?
It was like they blinked and fell asleep for a few moments, or minutes or some amount of time where the ground had moved and their head had started hurting.
There was still that weight on them, more places now. Hands.
They also realized someone had been talking this whole time, they only noticed it just now.
It sounded like the voice was worried but they didn't know what it was saying.
The darkness was stronger now and the voice couldn't get inside it.
It was just them and that big void.
And when they finally got too tired, it was just the void.
*********
When they woke up, they woke in a way that felt completely different.
They snapped out of something that immediately brought about a panic of how long had they been trapped in it.
They shot up quickly, causing their head to swim. For a moment they were sure they'd throw up but with a hand over their mouth, they managed to stifle the feeling.
They looked around, careful not to turn their head too quickly. They were in a bed, basic pine frame, plaid sheets. The walls were wood paneling. A simple wooden chair was next to the bed, turned towards it like someone had been watching them sleep.
It sent a shiver down their spine. Their head felt clearer than it had in a while. Then again they weren't sure how they even knew that, because as hard as they tried they couldn't remember it ever feeling clearer, or less clear, or... anything for that matter.
No, they remembered, they were sure. They just couldn't get to the memories, not right now.
They had to get somewhere safe, then they would be able to remember. Right now they had to get somewhere safe.
They turned and dropped their legs off the side of the bed, pushing themselves up to stand.
Distantly they heard a noise, a thunk.
Their face hurt, their nose specifically.
They were on the ground, when had that happened?
They felt tears well up in their eyes, they didn't know how long they just lost. This didn't feel right, there was something wrong with them.
"Hey woah, are you ok? I didn't uh, think you'd get up so soon, yourself."
Hands were on them.
The voice was familiar, vaguely.
"I'm- I'm fine."
That voice was even more familiar, it was so weak they were almost sure it couldn't be theirs, but the scratch in their throat as they talked proved it had to be.
There was a laugh. It was a nice sound.
"Are you sure about that now?"
The hands gripped them firmly, helping them up to a sitting position.
They let themselves be moved, too weak to resist. They forced their eyes open.
A man was crouched in front of them, loose brown curls. His eyes were crinkled warmly.
He smiled as they looked at him, "There you are love, are you ok?"
"Who-" their voice cracked, turning into a weak cough. They tried and failed to speak again. Their throat felt like sandpaper.
The guy shushed him gently, "It's ok, I understand. My name is Theo. I found you wandering around outside, just walking through a field. There isn't much around here, you must have walked for a while. You slept for like 40 hours. I'm going to help you back up on the bed ok?"
Theo helped them up again, guiding them to rest back against the pillows.
"Here," he handed them a glass of water from the side table.
They took it with shaky hands, and be began to gulp it down. Their throat was so dry it hurt at first, but slowly it began to soothe the painful scratchy feeling.
"What happened? To you, I mean. Why were you out there?"
The idea of lying came to their head, they didn't want to tell this stranger any important information.
But it was hard to try and lie when you don't know what's actually true. They couldn't remember anything to lie about.
"I-I..."
"It's ok love, you don't need to tell me. Can I at least get your name?"
That was a safe enough question, they could answer that.
If only they could remember the answer.
"I don't, uh I don't know," their voice was still hoarse, but the pain talking caused was now bearable.
Theo's eyebrows dropped a little, "oh. Well, that's... ok. That's alright, don't worry about it. Everything's going to be ok."
They doubted that. This wasn't normal, people were meant to remember things, about their life, and their name.
"I- I can't remember... anything," their distrust of the man before them was overshadowed by their growing panic, "I can't, what my life was, or what I was- I c-can't," their breathing quickened. Saying it out loud made it so much more real, but they couldn't stop, "I don't know who I am. What's my- who am I? What's my name?" Their voice cracked with held-back tears.
"Ok, ok," Theo held his hands out placatingly, "I don't know, I'm sorry. I wish I could help more. Take a breath, alright? It will be ok. You're safe, you have all the time in the world to figure this out. You can stay here as long as you need."
"I don't know, and I want to. Everything... hurts, it hurts and there has to be a reason, I have to have a name!" They tried to jump off the bed and were easily restained by Theo's hand pushing them back down onto the bed.
"You do have a name. Everyone has a name love, and we'll figure out yours. But right now, you need to relax. You're hurt, you said it yourself, let's deal with that ok? I could only do so much while you were sleeping, let's get you patched up. Get some food in you, it must have been a while since you had a good meal."
They stopped struggling, a few tears silently made their way out of their eyes. Resting sounded amazing, honestly. But even if they tried to they wouldn't be able to quiet the nagging feeling that they were missing something, something important could be happening and they just couldn't remember.
Whumpee let themself lay back on the twin sized mattress. It had been so long since they had a real bed to sleep on. With Whumper, they had a towel if they were perfectly behaved. Otherwise, they would have to sleep on the cold, hard concrete.
The calluses and scars littering their skin were gently cradled by the memory foam and cotton fiber. Their head resting not on the floor by their kidnapper's feet, but on a cloud-soft pillow. They were wrapped in a soft blanket and quilt, and the stuffed bear they had been given was laying comfortably in their arms.
It had been so long since they had felt so contented, so provided for, so loved. While a part of their brain told them it was all a ruse, they were mostly grateful. Caretaker was spoiling them, and they knew that there would be hell to pay for all the comfort they had been given.
However, at that moment, they couldn't care to think about the consequences of their comfort. Their eyelids grew heavy, and their brain was clouded with exhaustion.
So, for what felt like the first time since they had been abducted, they allowed themself to sleep.
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A Whumpee that used all of their mental energy on being defiant while with Whumper, so now when they are free, they are just kind of⊠empty.
Like, yeah, they are happy they got out, and they are happy they are with Caretaker, and they are happy they can do all the stuff they used to, but they have no energy to do it. They have no energy to do anything than the barest basics, and even that is hard.
For example, they used to play the piano extremely passionately, but couldnât while the Whumping happened. Now that they are rescued, Caretaker surprised them by getting a keyboard, or maybe their old piano. But Whumpee just sits there, emotionless, staring at the piano, with zero energy to truly appreciate the gift and play like they used to.
And then, weeks, maybe months later, Caretaker comes home and hears the faintest piano music, and just stops dead in their tracks, almost tearing up because they are so happy that Whumpee finally has the energy to play again.
c.w. dreaming of killing whumper to escape, some description of violence, forced to lie to protect whumper, mentions of past torture, psychological captivity
AO3
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He had the stool ready, waiting under the staircase.
Waiting for those footsteps and the shadows they dragged with them, the wall braced him as he waited and waited, inhaling dust from the skirtboards in staccato breaths that were too loud. He would hear. He would know.
Sweat was starting to build between his palms and the metal but he couldnât bring himself to loosen the grip. To make matters worse, a sneeze was coming on, his eyes were watering from the hollow dust and-
A mute gasp shot out as the stool clattered to the ground. His hands shot to shield his face as the blow of metal rang out into the room, pressing against his entire body as if it had been the impact of an explosion. Fuck. Terror locked his limbs until the walls had absorbed every echo and it was quiet again but even then he knew it wouldnât be long before the lock flipped. He just knew.
Click. And that would be the last one he would ever have to hear again.
Fear crawled back up his throat when he reached down and grabbed it again, trembling so violently that his breathing felt louder than the footsteps coming down the stairs. The darkness, now his ally, hid him well.Â
Before he knew it, Nick had moved to the bottom of the stairs, scanning the room for him and Hayko wanted to laugh because for once, he wouldnât get what he wanted. His captor made a noise of distaste until he seemed to stop, making sense of what was playing out.Â
Now.
Nick turned around according to script and before Hayko lunged, he caught a glimpse of fear in his eye just before the stool came down with such a clean weight onto his skull that the impact shook the air.
It was there and over so fast that he had fallen with the same fear he stood with and when there was no more movement, a choked sob fell into the pitch-black room, looking brighter by each second now.
He was free. He was fucking free and the basement, his tattered clothes, the fresh blood soiling his hands and the metal stool were all gone, vanished. But where had they gone to?
Hayko wished with his whole being that it didnât matter but uneasiness began wrapping around him at the question because it suffocated his newfound freedom. There was no peace until he knew how everything was back to normal. It couldnât be-
âRise and shine, love. You are up, arenât you?â
No. No, it had to be-
But it was too late to salvage it. The dream was gone.
Hayko blinked the tears and sleep out of his eyes and let the headrest of the car cushion the pain that always came back in pulses when he woke up. What he was expecting to feel - cold, hardwood flooring, crates, ropes - were all gone and an unfamiliar softness was in its place.
It was then that he realized he was in a car. Interestingly enough, not in the trunk.
He took a second to breathe in the ventilated air, feel it scrape down his throat and dig his fingers into the cushioned seat just to feel it. Just to make sure it was real.
âWhere are we going?â he whispered with a voice hoarse from dehydration after the initial shock had worn off. â...I-I just want to know.â
They were cruising down the interstate in what looked like the west if it wasnât so dark to make out the buildings. Nick drove with one hand draped over the steering wheel, disappointingly alive as he answered âWhere I picked you up fromâ without even a look.
If he hadnât been handcuffed, Hayko would have made sure they were both swerving into a tree just about then but the relief of being out of that shithole was almost too much to process. He didnât know whether to prod the psychopath for answers or thank him.
No, that was no good. Donât fucking thank him for the bare minimum. He kidnapped you and beat you and carved his fucking name-
He took a shivering breath, quiet enough that the ventilation overpowered it and one that Nick hopefully didnât hear as he watched the road. It zipped by smoothly, markings on the road curving here and there in a way that was calming. God, how he had missed it. He didnât know just how much he would miss the dance of road markings from a moving car until he saw them again. They were so simple, so inoffensive and a little faded but he had missed it still.
âWhatâs that youâre watching?â Nick asked, irritatingly curious.
âRoad.â
âAgain?â
âThe road,â he repeated, careful with the tone.
âWhatâs so interesting about it, love?â
Nick glanced over with an eyebrow pricked curiously that Hayko missed but felt even as his eyes were turned to the pavement. The vibrations made him a bit nauseous but he didnât want to look away because the alternative was worse. He didnât know how to respond and felt no obligation to play his game now.
If only he could know the way his skull had split in half when the stool had come down onto it.
As the road zipped by, he felt his eyelids getting heavier with each bump and wanted to keep himself awake for if he was dropped off but there was always something else that could happen. He preferred to be asleep if that was the case.
âThatâs it. Just close your eyes, Hayko. And...remember who you belong to now.â That voice lulled him too gently to ignore and the world was black again.
Voices. Real human voices.
âHoly shit. Jesus Christ is he-?...â
âI-I think heâs still breathing.â
âWe need to call someone, oh my god.â
Why were they so distraught? He couldnât look that bad. Though from unconsciousness, it was hard to tell just how bad the damage was. There had been head trauma, - too much of it - and he just fucking hoped it hadnât caused any permanent damage.
After that, it was glimpses of a building, tall and public looking. Muddled pressure of hands all over, pulling, carrying, dragging. Flashes of fluorescents behind eyelids that pierced too much and they just went on and on for what seemed like a hallway.
Sounds of metallic tools and small punctures that werenât in him, whirring around the room mixed with sharp orders and sounds of other patients, so far away that they brushed his ear. Hayko hadnât been in a hospital for some time now, not since the last time he had swerved into a tree in high school but it hadnât been as bad then and he hadnât had to consider the consequences of telling the truth.
Eventually, his lungs expanded to undertones of bleach, eyes fluttering open to white tiled ceiling and voices mixed and low outside the room. The heart monitorâs rhythmic beeps brought him to quicker until he heard it speed up and propped himself back on his elbows to see plastic signs, a couple of trolleys, and- bandages. A lot of them too.
âI think heâs awake.â A hushed, frantic voice came from close to him where he hadnât noticed a nurse standing and she looked shocked that he was even breathing.
He didnât want to startle her anymore so he croaked out a small âHeyâ before laying back against the pillow. He could have melted into the softness too. It wasnât every day that he went around cherishing how a bed felt but nobody could know just how good one felt after four fucking days of sleeping on the ground.
âHow are you feeling?â she asked softly, twisting the cap off a small medicine bottle with thin fingers. âI really hate to bug you more right now⊠You look like you could use the alone time but there are a few questions I need to ask and ones that the police have as well.â
âP-...police?â His eyebrows furrowed at her, ignoring the first question and watching her give an apologetic nod as she dropped a few tablets into her palm.
âYeah, Iâm sorry that theyâre going to heckle you a little bit but we were really concerned because of how you were...erm...dropped off here.â She handed him the tablets softly, motioning to the glass of water on the nightstand when he took them. âIt looks like whoever did this to you took off a few blocks from the hospital after they dropped you there.â
He didnât like how she swallowed nervously as she explained the ordeal. It made him feel seen-through and he never had liked making people worried, even for his sake. What could the cops want to ask him? There was nothing to ask since they couldnât know about it, right?
The nurseâs questions of medical history and what he could remember went one after another with cautious pauses in case he couldnât keep up but his stiff answers seemed satisfactory enough. It was when she finished the list and left that he prepared himself to face whatever the second barrage of can you give us a name? and can you recall the events of the past few days? was lined up for him.
The first woman through the door though made him do a double-take and it was when he felt something familiar about how she carried herself that he pushed himself further up until he was sitting against the pillow for a better look.
âAfternoon sir.â Blancaâs voice was firm, a little jaded but it was clear she felt something looking at the state of him or at least something moved behind her dark eyes. âI hope this isnât a hassle but there are a few questions we need to ask you.â
He took a deep breath as he nodded, keeping a look fixed on her and trying to figure out where he had last heard that smooth Cuban lilt from. âYeah, um...sounds good. Sorry, maâam, Whatâs your name? If you donât mind.â
She looked a bit surprised but cleared her throat and answered âJust call me ASAC Iglesiasâ like it was automated at that point.
He gaped a bit, startled enough to sit quietly for a moment, putting together Iglesias and the man she was probably looking for now. Really, what are the odds? There were some instances that couldnât just be a coincidence.
âHey, do I know you from somewhere?â She crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a second look with narrow eyes as if he was hiding something but it was quickly replaced with a softer and less threatening smile. âI remember touring some kid volunteering a couple of years ago and I could have sworn he looked just like-â
âLike me. The volunteer parole officer, right?â
âRight. Say, that guy you were in charge of was a pain in the ass, wasnât he? Hopefully, he didnât give you too much grief because my memoryâs running short here.â
He could have laughed hysterically or even a grim you have no idea but the creeping cold dread that washed over him as he was about to speak made him think twice. He didnât have the luxury of joking freely about that time in his life or him anymore because the game of who could know had changed. As she was taking a seat with her set of questions lined up, Haykoâs heart began to race in preparation to make up a truth that would be comfortable for him.
âIâve just got a few things to ask since weâve been seeing increased gang activity in the city over the past few weeks and we suspect this might have to do with-â
He wasnât listening but when asked if ready, swallowed hard and nodded, reaching to the glass of water with a barely disguisable shake in his hand.
Tagging: @whatwasmyprevioususernameâ @im-just-here-for-the-whumpâ Â @ifbtnnaâ @pythagoreanwhumpâ Â @abouttemperedgraceâ @straight-to-the-painâ @adamantem-roseâ @whatwhump Â
