#postwhump

Some good old recovery whump with a sleep deprived and touch starved whumpee who doesn’t know how to ask for help and their caretaker who doesn’t have a clue what they’re doing sometimes.

A= whumpee

B= caretaker

A had shot out of bed in a cold sweat. Every time they had tired to go to sleep, their mind was poisoned with nightmares. They couldn’t fall asleep again. They couldn’t. They couldn’t go through the pain of nightmares anymore. They just couldn’t.

That’s why A had decided to just start walking, pacing in their small bedroom. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A hadn’t slept for a significant amount of time in days... was it a week? They weren’t sure. Time had started blurring together.

All that was important was staying awake, and trying to convince B that they hadn’t been awake all night every night. The latter clearly wasn’t working.

B knew they weren’t ok, but they were hoping that it would somehow suddenly get better. They didn’t know what to do- they didn’t expect they’d have to take care of A. They didn’t even know the extent of what had happened to them.

A continued walking, soon moving to the hallway outside of their room. They lingered slightly at the door to B’s room- thinking about touch. They wanted to be touched and held so deeply that it made them tremble before they stopped. They scolded themself internally, feeling so pathetic for wanting to ask someone for such a pathetic thing like being held. The thoughts of being held occupied their tired mind so much that when they had bumped into god knows what and made a ruckus, they barely noticed.

They barely noticed how they woke B up.

“A?”

They froze up.

“Having problems sleeping again?”

A hesitated, unsure of if they wanted to tell them the truth or lie to make them feel better.

“I know you are... what can I do to help?”

“I’m fine, B... promise...”

“No you aren’t,” B said suddenly, taking A by the hand. “Why havnt you been sleeping?” B interrogated, looking them in the eyes, “and don’t tell me that you have been... I know that’s not true”

A stayed silent for a while, unsure of what to say. “It’ll be stupid if I told you...”

“I won’t judge, promise”

A hesitated before sighing, sounding ashamed . “‘fraid I’ll have nightmares..” they mumbled, feeling embarrassed.

“It’s okay, A...” B gently pat their back, causing them to gasp quickly. “Did I hurt you?” B asked quickly.

“No... p-please keep your hand there” they asked suddenly. “I... it feels nice...” they were becoming a blushing mess of embarrassment. “Haven’t been touched like this in a while... all soft...”

“Do you want me to hug you?” B asked suddenly

A hesitated before nodding. God, they felt so weak. Asking for something like hugs? Pathetic.

B suddenly pulled them into a soft embrace and everything melted. They let tears long bottled up start to spill as they clung to them.

“Now now, let’s go to bed, k?”

A nodded quickly as B slowly lead them to their bedroom, laying down all cuddled up in their blankets with A in their arms.

Noah was going as fast as his broken ankle would allow him, he was barely shuffling. The cold of the night clung to his open wounds, the woodsy suburban area air seeping into his open skin. He wiped the blood that ran down from his mouth, then the blood from his head, then the blood from his neck. There was so much blood.

Grabbing onto himself, he kept shuffling across the road. James might be awake at any moment, might already be on his way, walking calmly towards him... Noah looked back behind him, and saw nothing. Yes, nothing. In the mid of night there was nothing. Nothing but Noah and-

"Fuck!"

Kirah slammed on her breaks, too little too late. The body hit her car with a loud thud, rolling onto her hood. She wiped her eyes of the tears quickly and composed herself then ran outside of her car to the guy.

"Are you okay?" she asked, pleaded. She couldn't become a murderer, her life was already shitty as is. The guy grunted, and Kirah put her hands on her hips. "Oh my god," she said, panting. "I thought you were dead."

"Please help me," Noah groaned rolling over to the best of his ability. He saw the silhouette of a girl standing there, hands on her hips. He couldn't see anything else, her headlights were off and the street was unusually dark for a suburban area.

"Of course! Hospital!" she exclaimed, as if the thought just occured to her.

"No!" Noah sat up. "Never mind about help, I'm fine."

"I just hit you with my car, you need to-"

"Listen lady, I've been through a lot worse than being hit with an suv, no hospital," Noah sniped. Kirah stood there for a moment. From what she could tell in the dark the guy was broad, muscular. But no matter how many muscles you have, being hit with a car is not something to brush off.

"Okay, but please, let me help you. I'll take you back to my house. We'll clean you up and I'll somehow manage to make you not want to call the police on me. I have ramen." Noah stared at her, and despite not being able to see any of her features, he liked her. Her head was in the right place, keep the police uninvolved.

"Alright, but we have to hurry."

"Let me help you." Kirah put her arms around the guy, feel something cold and wet seep through her shirt. She turned her nose up to his smell, but quickly tried to hide it. He smelled like urine, vomit, and mold. And then, it occured to her, she could have very well just picked up a homeless psychopath.

She helped him into the car nonetheless, she did just run over him, she owed him one. And who knew, maybe she would get lucky and he would kill her. She turned down her sad song she'd had on repeat, and sheepishly turned on the headlights she hadn't bothered to turn on before. The inside of the car lit up dimly, the screen on her dashboard glowing with the time. Was it already past midnight?

Noah glanced to her as the car started again. She was a thicker girl, with wild blond locks and grey eyes. Her eyes were red and puffy, had she been crying? She was shaking in her seat, still obviously unnerved as to having hit someone with her vehicle.

Kirah pretended not to notice his quick glance, and after a sufficient pause, she looked at him. He was beat up badly, he had blood dribbling every few inches from his skin. His face was unharmed, though it seemed like everything else was. He was handsome, fitly built with brown curled (but very greasy) hair and brown eyes, a strong jaw line, and a toned bruised body. She looked away, suddenly feeling very self conscious about herself.

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