Hi! Could you please write something with a whumpee who is badly injured (maybe at a hospital or something🤷♀️) trying to convince caretaker/leader that they are fine (maybe not doing such a great job) and caretaker acting annoyed that they got hurt but is really worried? No pressure of course🤗
#319
content: team whump, hospital setting, self-deprecation, gruff caretaker
"I'm fine!" Whumpee insisted, trying and failing to sit up in their hospital bed. "Leader, it's nothing, I can go back out on the field within—"
"Quiet," Leader's voice rang out in the hospital room, and Whumpee was sure that this time, the injury would cost them their job. The job they had to support themself and their family, the job that was keeping a roof over their head, food on the table— Needless to say, they were staring down the barrel of a panic attack. They had to convince Leader this was nothing. "You're in a hospital. Again. Do you have any idea what it's costing the Organisation?"
"I'm sorry," they squeaked. "Leader, please, I promise, I'll be out of here tomorrow, or today evening, I can do today evening—"
"You're not doing today or tomorrow." Their voice was so harsh, Whumpee wanted to break down crying. But that would've been so pathetic. So they held it together under their superior's stern gaze. "I've talked to staff. You're staying at least a week, while they observe you."
"I won't miss a whole week of work!" they tried again. "Leader, I promise, I won't be a liability—"
"I am your boss and I have to ensure you don't die on the job." For the first time since Leader had entered their room, Whumpee saw something on their face other than fury. It was… worry? "You'll miss as much work as the nurses and doctors say."
"Please, don't fire me," they pleaded in a low voice.
Leader pinched the bridge of their nose. "Whumpee…"
"I know I mess up a lot, I know— I know I'm the most useless one on the team, but please, I'm doing my best, please, I don't have any other job prospects, I'm entirely relying on this, so please—"
"I'm not firing you," Leader said.
"—I promise I'll— You're not…?"
"No. So stop stressing about that."
Whumpee plopped back down onto their back, their injuries screaming with the sudden movement. They weren't going to lose their livelihood. They were safe. As safe as one could be, given the state of their injuries. "Thank you, Leader. I'm forever indebted to you, I swear I'll pay it back someday…"
"Don't mention it. Just… get better."
"I will. I will, I promise. I'm so sorry for setting the operation back."
Leader sighed. "Everyone on the team is worried about you, you know."
"You can tell them I'm fine!"
"You're not."
"I will be!"
"Yeah. I guess that's right. I'll come visit whenever I have the time."
"No, it's okay, I promise—"
Leader made them swallow their words with a single look. "I'll come and visit."
"Understood," they said meekly.
Was Leader… really worried about them? Them? Useless, pitiful Whumpee?
"Good. Be sure to follow the orders of staff here. Just like you would follow my orders."
"Understood."
"I'll come by. Be sure to get well."
Once Leader was out of the room, Whumpee slumped against their pillow. They must've looked really bad if even Leader was worried…
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Me to myself, about the stupid things I may have said, thought, or believed in the past, or the times I didn't understand something: That was the past. You didn't know better back then. But you've grown as a person, and you know better now. It's okay.
content: self-deprecation, recovery fic, comfort, gore? very mild
Whumpee didn't look at Caretaker, so Caretaker knelt by their feet and looked up at them. It was near impossible to avoid their eyes like that. And this close, Caretaker could see details Whumpee would've liked nobody to notice.
"What is this?" they asked, tracing Whumpee's fingers. The skin around their nails were picked off, bloody, some scabbed over. "Did you do this to yourself?"
"Yeah," they muttered. "I pick at them when I'm anxious."
"You're very anxious, then."
"Yeah."
"It must've hurt a lot. There are a lot of nerve-endings there."
"Yeah."
"We'll get you band-aids on the way home, okay?"
Caretaker kept gently stroking the disgusting wounds, and Whumpee couldn't stop the tears from coming, because Caretaker's hands were so soft and they were touching someone as gross as them.
"Okay," they said anyway, not wanting to argue.
"Okay," they repeated. "You don't just need to heal from your inner demons. We'll take care of this, too."
content: whumpee x caretaker, bad caretaker, disabled whumpee, ableism, internalised ableism, self-deprecation
The date was going well. It was their third date, and Caretaker had most of the same values as Whumpee, they were hitting it off, everything seemed to be going great.
But there was an elephant in the room. Whumpee had a rare genetic disorder called Huntington's disease. And there was no way they could progress into this sort-of-almost-relationship any further without Whumpee disclosing it.
"Goodness, yes, I want kids!" Caretaker said with a laugh. "I love kids! I can't wait to have my own! I'm so glad you're on the same page."
"Yeah," Whumpee said with a smile, shifting in their seat nervously. "That's great. Um..." Huntington's was something passed down genetically. If Whumpee had a child, there was a chance they would inherit the disease. Whumpee knew that. Still, they so desperately wanted kids. They wanted a family. Didn't they deserve one?
"Is something wrong?" Caretaker asked, their own smile faltering.
"No— I mean, a little. I just need to talk to you about something."
"Oh, dear. You're not secretly an axe murderer, are you?"
Whumpee laughed a little. Maybe that would've been a better 'secret' to share. "I have Huntington's," they blurted out before they could've changed their mind. All they got in response was a blank stare.
Whumpee took a deep breath. "It's a progressive disease. The nerve cells in my brain are decaying, and it only gets worse with time."
Caretaker slowly nodded. "Okay," they said carefully. "What does that mean for you?"
"It's a little like a combination of Alzheimer's and Parkinson's. My thinking is impacted, my memory, my temper — I have the worst fits of anger, goodness — as are my movements. I'm sort of twitchy. Sometimes walking is hard. It's... Well, it impacts a lot."
Caretaker was quiet for a while. Whumpee kept bouncing their leg under the table, biting the inside of their cheek, trying to keep calm and not jump down Caretaker's throat to just say something.
"I see," they said. "And you say it gets worse as you age?"
"Yeah. So— I mean, I think it's only fair— You have to know about it, if we're gonna be in a relationship. Because I might need some help before I'm 80 years old. I might need help at 30. Or 25. I don't know. Nobody knows."
Caretaker nodded again. "Well, I'll have to look this up at home and read some stuff... If that's okay. I'm sorry, I don't really know what to say at the moment. This is really sudden."
"I understand," Whumpee rushed to say. "Totally get it. It's a lot. Do you still want to finish the date?"
"Yeah, of course. I love talking to you, Whumpee."
Whumpee smiled, their anxiety easing a bit. "Okay."
—
It was the next day that they got the text. They rolled out of bed and checked their phone when they heard the notification sound go off, and they smiled when they saw that it was from Caretaker.
That smile quickly dropped.
Hi, Whumpee. I'm sorry for doing this through text. I would've called you, but it's still so early, I didn't want to wake you. I don't think this will work out. I read up on Huntington's. I don't want to seem rude, but it'd be a lot to take on. I'm still young; I want to travel, I want to do things, I want to enjoy my youth with someone who's healthy. And I saw that it was genetic. We both want kids, don't we? We agreed on it. But I can't have kids with you. I'm sorry. I want a big family, but I'm not willing to take on the risk of them developing Huntington's, or God forbid, juvenile Huntington's. I really enjoyed getting to know you. I wish you the best, and I hope you find someone.
Whumpee was suddenly transported back to the doctor's office that very day they got the genetic test results back and the doctor looked them in the eye and told them they had inherited the disease from their mother. They felt the same crushing feeling, and the thought that nobody could ever love them again felt just as suffocating as then.
They typed out a response — agreeable, not bitter, because one thing worse than a disabled person was an angry disabled person demanding they be treated special. Right? So they wished Caretaker the best as well, then gently set their phone back down on their nightstand.
They lay back down, staring at the ceiling. Surely, somebody, somewhere was out there. Somebody who would love them.
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I'm being taught how to not need or crave constant validation by someone I love, and I'm discovering that it has less to do with how I feel about myself and more to do with how much I trust the other person. Do I trust that, when they say they love me and adore me that they actually mean it? Or am I mistrustful and suspect that they're only humoring me and putting up with me? I am learning to trust. I trust this person so deeply, since the very beginning I have trusted them so much, unlike anyone else. "I would not say it if I didn't mean it." "I would not offer if I didn't mean it." And I believe them. Against so much conditioning over the course of my life, and fear, and mistrust, I actually believe them. I have slowly started to not seek constant reassurance. I've reduced my self-deprecation around them. I don't put myself beneath them. They say they love me and they adore me and I trust that they see something worth loving and adoring in me. I trust you, I love you, I adore you.
