#whump scenes

Lead leaves Whumpee’s cell, putting a trusted employee on guard to watch them, on a mission to locate and punish whoever broke their perfect Asset. It doesn’t take long to put the pieces together. A small cohort of the ones left in charge formed a tight group, and let nobody else access Whumpee or view that they did to them.

Now, Whumpee wasn’t exactly in a position to protect themselves. The group found them a fun prize, an attractive thing that talked back. Person? No, that wasn’t a descriptor that even passed through their minds. All they saw was an object to exploit, and they did. Over and over again, until Whumpee expected every touch to hurt, fighting to be useless, suffering as a given. Learned helplessness was now their defining philosophy.

At first, they group brags. When they realize they’re not being met with praise, but disapproval, their tone switches to justification, to victim blaming. Oh, come on, you’ve seen them, you understand, don’t you? Lead stops the discussion there. They don’t have to hear much to know their course of action. None of their employees will forget what happens when they cross Lead.

But then, after a particular mission, he gets really hurt; badly enough that his healing factor isn’t enough to handle it. This time he has to stay in the hospital.

The team members take turns keeping him company so he won’t hobble back to his room.

He grouses but complies, and he laughs with them when they tease him for turning away whenever the nurses have to draw blood or readjust his drip. He’s just grateful for the company. With team there, he can distract himself from the dreadful familiarity of the hospital room and its rhythms.

He even starts to make friends with the nurses and doctors. And Whumpee starts to relax even when someone from the team isn’t in the room. Enough that the team feels they can leave him alone for short periods.

Then, the entire team has to go on a mission. His face is tense, but he promises he’ll stay put.

They return, flush with success, expecting to find Whumpee eager to hear about the mission.

Instead they find him deeply asleep. He rouses briefly when they try to wake him, eats all the protein bars they have left over, and then falls asleep again.

They’re puzzled. The doctor doesn’t seem concerned.

“He’s doing so well, his healing factor has geared up and he’s just… it’s incredible,” he says.

Medic takes in the crease between Whumpee’s eyebrows, the flat press of his mouth. The hand he sets against Whumpee’s forehead registers a mild grade fever.

“He’s running hot. This doesn’t feel normal,” he tells Doctor.

Doctor shrugs. “I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s just his unique physiology taking charge of the situation.”

Medic looks at the X-rays of previously fractured bones. He points out an anomaly. “Isn’t this going to be a problem? His bones are healing too fast.”

Doctor peers at where Medic has his finger pressed against the film. “Only time will tell. Maybe some pain will remain. But functionally he’ll be all there. Shouldn’t affect any future missions.”

It’s not what Medic meant.

Neither the doctor nor the nurses can tell him what happened to trigger this… turn.

When he asks Whumpee, he simply says, “I want to leave, is all.”

Medic presses for a reason, but Whumpee simply shrugs and asks if there are any more muffins. He slips into sleep grumpily when he’s told he ate the last one.

It’s Team Member C who comes up with the idea to review the video feeds.

They skim the feed from the day they left for the mission. Nothing seems out of turn, until they see Whumpee get out of bed after a nurse leaves. He hobbles to the door and stands there, looking out both ways as if contemplating a getaway. Then he slowly wobbles back and climbs back into bed.

And something about the way he lies down and puts his elbow over his eyes suggests it’s the incident they’re looking for.

“What…” Team Member A frowns at the screen. “I can’t tell what happened there.”

Team Member B leans forward. “It’s after the nurse left. Can we see what happened between them? Play it back normal speed.”

The interaction seems normal enough. The male nurse comes in, checks Whumpee’s charts, adjusts his drip. They exchange a few words, he leaves.

Nothing seems wrong with anything the nurse said or did. But it’s exactly then that Whumpee’s affect changes.

They are playing it back for the fourth time, watching Whumpee’s hands clench anxiously in the blanket. His tiny figure on the screen climbs out of bed and stands at the door contemplating escape, then turns away from the open door. Climbs back into bed again. As if his promise to stay put had pulled him back like a leash.

Team Member C lets out a small gasp. “It wasn’t what the nurse did. It’s what he didn’t do.”

Medic tilts his head at her.

She goes on, “He didn’t smile back at Whumpee.”

Team Member B laughs. “All this because he didn’t get a smile back? That’s the most—”

“No, wait…” Medic says slowly. “I think she might have a point.”

They watch the playback loop again. They pay extra attention when Whumpee looks up at the nurse, grinning after saying something. The nurse nods, says something back perfunctionarily and then, without really looking at Whumpee, puts the chart back in its place and leaves.

The shift is almost invisible. A stillness they hadn’t caught before, settling over Whumpee’s face and shoulders.

“He’s scared,” C whispers.

“But why?” B wonders. “I don’t get why a nurse not smiling back would…”

“Think about it,” Medic says. “Back in the lab, he was treated like a thing. Nobody interacted with him like a person.”

“He’s been testing the staff here…” A says slowly, the realisation finally dawning on him. “He only felt safe when they responded to him like a person. That’s why he’s been so chatty and jokey with them.”

“He’s been reminding them he’s a person,” C says softly.

They stay silent. Watching the playback loop again.

Medic finally taps on the pause button. The image freezes right after the nurse has left. Whumpee’s face is still, his shoulders drawn up minutely towards his ears. His hands have curled into the edge of the blanket.

It’s so obvious now.

A breaks the silence. “So what do we do?” he says.

“I don’t know,” Medic says. “But… he’s paying prices for how he’s pushing his healing factor.”

“It’s not so bad, right?” B says. “I mean that’s what Doctor said.”

Medic looks again at the pixelated face, the curled fingers. Remembers how Whumpee climbed back into bed and lay down as if… as if he was putting himself away.

“He’s not a thing,” Medic says.

++++++++++++++++

Note: This was meant to be a throwaway character... but this is the third chapter on him so far... HOW? If you like the boy, you can read about his rescue (Rabid) and his recovery (Endurance)

Edit: oh hey, look, Team Alphabet now has its own origin fic! >> Practice Run