TW: Implied Abuse, Strong Language
Caretaker couldn’t find Whumpee anywhere. They'd been searching the seedy part of the city— this is where they lived?— all night after they had stormed out after an argument, and still nothing. Caretaker didn't like this place, all grimy and full of faces that smiled with too many fangs to be human. The bars clamored with the worst type of clientele, and though their coat did little to protect from the cold, and the warmth enticed them, they ignored it.
They heard some murmuring from a small crowd, and their stomach turned to lead. They pawed their way through the crowd, glaring up at the jostling gossipers. They parted through the sea of people, finally able to see.
Whumpee laid there, still dressed in the less-than-winter-appropriate outfit from earlier, blood matted into their hair, skin all scraped up and bruised. One of their eyes appeared swollen shut, blood dripping from their split lip as they trembled in their unconscious state.
Caretaker shoved the people around them back. "Get the fuck out of here! Don't you have places to be?!"
The crowd grumbled but dispersed upon seeing Caretaker's gun. They crouched before Whumpee, cautious not to touch them. They didn’t want to scare them, instead letting Whumpee see their hands.
"Whumpee?"
They let out what sounded like a whimper, eyelids fluttering but never fully opening. Caretaker had a million questions, but sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose. They already knew have the answers, and besides, they weren't going to get much out of them like this anyway.
Caretaker stood up, shrugging off their coat, thankful for the thick top they had on underneath. They laid it over Whumpee, holding back a cry at how small they looked like that. They weren't supposed to be small.
"Whumpee, I'm going to pick you up now. I'm going to bring you home, alright?"
Their face scrunched up, voice too hoarse. "Whumper... No, please..."
Caretaker knelt back down, eyes burning as Whumpee's arm flailed, not hitting anything, just revealing more bruises and cigarette burns.
"I'm here now, Whumpee. Whumper won't hurt you while I'm here. I'm right here."
They gingerly scooped Whumpee up into their arms, wincing at how hollow they felt, like a strong breeze would blow them away. Whumpee's face nestled into Caretaker's shoulder, and as Caretaker carried them back home— their real home— they let that act as the smallest insurance that they might be okay.
