idk what i'm doing

"I'm sorry, I-- I couldn't do a-- Ah!" Whumpee winced as they tried to sit up, their voice barely more than a rasp.

"None of that now. It's okay. Close your eyes. When you open them, everything will be alright." Caretaker cradled the broken figure in his arms, gently shushing and rocking them until relief and exhaustion took over and they passed out.

Caretaker gently lifted them up and carried them to the far side of the room. He cautiously sat them against the wall, tucked in the corner.

"Scared you'll stumble over the dead weight?" Whumper's voice sneered behind him.

inspo by @/justbreakonme

content: stoic whumpee, emotional whump, emotional breakdown, team whump, comfort

Whumpee took a deep breath — not too deep, lest someone accuse them of sighing — then let it out slowly, measured and cool. They didn't allow themself to swallow too audibly, their saliva thick in their mouth and throat, like just before a sob escaped them. They wouldn't sob. They wouldn't let a single tear trickle down their stupid cheeks.

Because if they did, people would ask questions. People would ask, and they'd have to lie, and they weren't a very good liar, and then their voice would catch on the lump in their throat, and then they'd get the look, the pitying 'poor little thing' look, and then it would all come crumbling down. Their perfectly, precisely built house of cards would come crashing down, and once they started crying, they would never be able to stop.

But this time, something was different.

Unlike the others, Whumpee didn’t groan, stand up and join the rest in the circle of light provided by the single, hanging lightbulb, but instead silently propped himself up against the bare concrete wall next to the door, breathing heavily.

“Whumpee?” asked Leader, “Everything OK?”

“Yeah,” Whumpee answered steadily, but Medic has treated this team of stubborn idiots enough to realize something was wrong.

“What is it?” he asked. “What did they do?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

Medic exchanged looks with Leader and they rushed to Whumpee’s side, ignoring his protests.

“Dammit, Whumpee!” Leader swore as he reached for Whumpee in the dark and felt something warm and wet.

“I’m fine,” insisted Whumpee, “It’s nothing.”

“We’ll see about that,” Medic frowned. “Help me bring him into the light.”

As they half-carried, half-dragged Whumpee across the room, Medic felt the blood flow from his stomach. The rate of it was a very bad sign.

Second-in-command gasped as Whumpee finally came into view. “What th-the fuck happened, Whumpee?” their tongue still spasming after the electrical shock they received.

Whumpee sighed as Leader lay his head across his lap. “I might have pissed Whumper off a little.”

Whumpee really did look horrible, paler than Medic has ever seen him, the blood streaming from the deep gash in his abdomen colouring his torso and pants a dark, unsettling red.

Leader already had his shirt off, bundling it up to press against the wound, but medic stopped him and examined Whumpee closer, careful not to touch him and risk an infection. Suddenly he stood, stomped in front of the camera over the door and started yelling.

“Hey!” he waived his fist at the camera. “Do you have any idea what the FUCK you did, you son of a bitch? Get us medical supplies in here, or he’s gonna bleed the fuck out, you hear me?? I bet you don’t want that to happen, otherwise you would have just finished the fucking job, right??”

Youngest exchanged looks with the rest of the team as he helped Leader apply pressure to the wound. He had never seen Medic so angry, and by the looks on their faces, neither had the others.

Medic continued shouting abuse at the camera as Whumpee’s breath became more and more laboured.

“Medic!” called Second-in-command anxiously. “Do something!”

Just then a small latch in the door opened, and a tray was pushed through it. Medic grabbed it and hurried to kneel at Whumpee’s side. He checked the supplies – Thread, a needle, a few bandages in filthy plastic wrappings, half a bottle of antiseptic, and… nothing. No pain relief, no anaesthesia. He met Whumpee’s eyes with a worried look.

“I can’t do it,” He said. “Not without anything for the pain.”

“Just do it,” said Whumpee.

“I can’t, there are a lot of nerves there, the pain will be-“

“Just do it!” interrupted Whumpee loudly and winced.

Medic thought for a second. “OK,” he said. “Leader, hold onto his shoulders, make sure he can’t move them or jump up. Youngest, Teammate A, sit on his legs, pin them down. Teammate B, Second-in-command, grab the arms.”

Everyone took their positions. Medic cleaned his hands and placed one of the folded bandages in Whumpee’s mouth to stop him from biting his tongue.

“Ready?” Medic asked, Whumpee gave a short, decisive nod.

Whumpee’s eyes widened as Medic began with the first stitch. He instinctively tried to curl up and protect himself, but the team held him down. By the fourth stitch, Whumpee started screaming, the sound muffled by the bandage in his mouth. By the ninth stitch, Medic was yelling at Youngest to distract Whumpee. By the sixteenth, Whumpee’s arm somehow got free from under Second-in-command and Medic barely avoided getting hit by the flailing limb before it was caught again. By the last, nineteenth stitch, everyone was sweating and breathing heavily.

Medic finished bandaging the wound and motioned for everyone to let go of Whumpee. Whumpee spat out the bandage.

“A piece… a piece of cake,” he smiled weekly.

. "Yep. 15 if the rank progression hasn't changed."

"They're only 15??"

YOU UNDERSTAND

ohhhh especially that leader one. I love any sort of leader subversion. I hope you don't mind if I ramble a bit--

I love leaders who are normally cool-headed and stoic breaking down in panic when the situation feels hopeless. Leaders who have a solution to every problem, who are always planning ahead, who the team relies on like a limb, falling apart. The voice crack when they're unsure of an order. The shaking hands when they try to wrestle everything back under control. The team devolves into arguing, and Leader shouts to get their attention, with red eyes, short breaths, terror heavy on their shoulders. "I don't know what to do."

Gentle leaders getting angry is delicious to me, too. Normally soft and sweet, well-rounded and reliable, someone the team can't ever imagine hurting a fly, turning rabid in defense of their family. Snarling, tearing into someone, every word sharp and cruel and demeaning. If it gets physical, the team finally sees what the callouses on their leader's hands are for--and it leaves them unsure whether to feel safer, or... afraid. I love it when they lose the mask.

But: on the other side, Leaders who are normally snappy and rude, who are under huge amounts of pressure, who are maybe new to the position and don't handle it well, showing a soft side when their team needs it most. Sitting beside a feverish member, ready to wake them when the nightmares creep out of hiding. Holding an injured teammate's hand tight while Medic stitches them up, whispering words of encouragement. When the whole team thinks Leader hates them, but the moment any of them are in danger, Leader loses their whole shit, utterly desperate to get them back. When they're safe, Leader can't stop touching them, holding their face, drying their tears, refusing to let go. Frantically whispering apologies for not being good enough to protect them. Whumpees who thought they wouldn't be missed, plus a struggling leader who loves them so much it hurts, my beloved.

Leader is sitting on a gurney while the medic stitches up a cut on their arm, basking in the relief that it's over. Everyone is alive and while it might take some time before they're all back to 100%, no one was seriously injured.

A sudden commotion in the hallway jolts them out of their reverie, and they crane their neck just in time to spot a group of medical personnel go rushing by with a gurney—and there's a familiar figure lying on it.

"Whumpee!" Leader shouts, jumping off the bed and ignoring the medic trying to stop them as they rush into the hallway. "Whumpee! What's going on?"

Leader's head is spinning, trying to figure out what happened. Whumpee had been fine, they'd had the least injuries of them all. They'd been instrumental in getting everyone to safety. Leader had never noticed a thing....

Leader senses someone behind them and turns to come face-to-face with Teammate.

"What happened?" Leader demands desperately. "They were fine, they were good, they—What happened?!"

Teammate's eyes are shiny with unshed tears, raw fear in their expression. "I don't know. One minute they were standing there, waiting for the medics to get done with me, and the next, they—they just dropped."

Leader's mouth has gone dry. "How bad?" they whisper.

So you know what? When there's the random ass old man caretaker (like not old old, u know) and he meets this kid teen Whumpee somewhat beaten up or other shit and it's the found family trope

Like

Like that's the good stuff

#318

content: child whumpee, minor whumpee, rocky recovery, comfort, past trauma

He almost didn't notice. If it wasn't for the faint sound of a paper bag in the wind, if it wasn't for his curiosity being piqued for some inexplicable reason… But, there. There, behind the dumpster. There was a leg sticking out.

Caretaker didn't think much before he approached. The sound of his footsteps made the leg retreat into the shadow of the dumpster, but it was already too late. Caretaker was bound to found whoever it belonged to.

“You,” Team Leader growled when the door opened to the room they had been locked in.

“Funny,” Whumper started, lingering in the doorway. “That was my reaction as well when I saw the security footage of you three sneaking into my facility… Leader.” He nodded at them, looking at all three. “Caretaker,” he said casually, in greeting. Then his eyes whisked over Whumpee and a hungry glint lit up in his eyes. “Whumpee. Back out here already, hm? Looks like you made a full recovery?”

“Looks like your nose did, too,” Whumpee fired back, trying to contain their surprise being face to face with him once again. “Did someone set it for you or did you do that yourself?”

At their first meeting, Whumper had severely underestimated Whumpee. After Whumpee broke his nose, that one-on-one quickly turned to a five-on-one. And yes, their broken bones had taken weeks to heal. But Whumper’s broken pride must have taken way longer, and from the looks of it – the man narrowed his eyes – it still hadn’t healed.

He covered it well with a predatory smile, bearing his teeth.

“Oh, it is good to see you again,” he sighed. A short pause. Then he stepped back. “Come with me.”

"mhn.."

"good, i think i’ll go now and let you rest then"

"n-no, wait… i didn’t take it…"

"but you just said—"

Whumpee’s eyes were still a little far away, but the smell seemed to bring them back. They look down, stomach growling, and take a stuttering breath. “Oh.” They look up at Caretaker. “Thank you.”

Caretaker smiles gently. “Would you like to hold it?”

Whumpee takes a moment, looking down at their hands and unclenching their fists, where their nails had dug into their palms. They were shaking, only a little, and had pulled their knees into their chest.

All nerves and disorientation, they nod, and take the bowl into their palms, crossing their legs slowly and leaning back against the kitchen cupboards.

“Thank you.” They say again, quieter.

“You’re welcome.” Caretaker says gently. They give their friend a long look. “You seem tired.”

Whumpee nods, staring down at the bowl. “I am…I am tired.”

Caretaker lets the silence fall gently between them.

“You haven’t been around the commons in a while.” They say, not accusing, just quiet. “I figured you might need some checking in on.” They move their hand down to the key card that had allowed them into Whumpee’s living quarters.

Whumpee’s mouth goes into a thin line, then they breathe again, and let out a kind of laugh. “Ah, well… I just.. felt too much like…”

Caretaker waits patiently for them to speak. It takes a few minutes.

“Too much like… myself.” Whumpee completes.

“Like yourself?” Caretaker gently probes.

“Yeah,” Whumpee whispers. “Like myself from… before. Who I… was. Who I used to be.”

“Your old self.” Caretaker nods, gently correcting it in their head, understanding. “How do you feel now?”

“Like me.” Whumpee says. “More like me, more like who I am. With you. With everyone here, now.”

“That’s good.” Caretaker gets on their knees in front of Whumpee. “I hope you get to feel that way. All the time.”

“Yeah.” Whumpee says quietly. “Me too.”

By this time the soup steaming had died down. Caretaker nods at the bowl. “Would you like to have some?”

Whumpee refocuses on it, as if just now remembering. “Ah, yeah… I was just… waiting.”

“Waiting?” Caretaker quirks a smile at them. “Waiting for what?”

“For uh… permission.” Whumper admits. “I… I used to have to ask.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Caretaker says slowly, “you don’t need to anymore.”

“Yeah.” Whumper pauses, then stands up, and holds a hand out for Caretaker. Caretaker takes it and stands. “I don’t need to anymore.”

The two move to the dining table. Meant for just one person.

Whumpee pauses, looking at caretaker, who shrugs. Whumpee then looks towards the door of their quarters. They hadn’t even given it thought in at least a week. But now…

“Would you like to eat in the commons?” They ask caretaker.

Caretaker just smiles. “Would you be coming with me?”

Whumpee nodded.

"no," whumpee answers. they hope they didn't exhibit any outward sign of pain, of weakness. when they used to, whumper would sneer at them, poke harder, snick at the skin, dig their nails in— until their cries would quieten and they would be stiff as a statue, muscles locked and mind elsewhere.

caretaker shoots them a dubious look, as if they don't know what to make of it. as if it should hurt.

so they keep prodding. whumpee wonders what are they being punished for, their shoulders rising a little further with every new touch, their words slipping away and out of their reach. they silently pray for caretaker to miss the patch where it smarts the worst— they are sure that that would be unbearable, sure that they won't be able to curb the pained whimpers.

but then caretaker's finger catches at the dreaded part, digging in with more force than expected—and they jerk away from the pain.

whumpee's eyes widen when they realise what they did, forcing themselves to reacquaint with caretaker's touch, exposing their weakness so caretaker can dig their nails in, even as they want to hide away, away, away— curl up tight and fall unconscious, miles far from their stinging wounds and unwanted memories.

caretaker immediately pulls back, the apology on the tip of their tongue cut short as they take in whumpee's state— the sweat on the bridge of their nose, hands clenched into fists, lips pressed tight.

"does it... hurt?" caretaker asks, the same question carrying an entirely different weight.

they feel their heart clench at the harried shake of whumpee's head. guilt is a physical thing that piggybacks on their shoulders as they put the ointment on. how could they have missed it? they think, watching as whumpee struggles to stay alert and awake, stiff muscles giving way to an exhausted tremble that ripples through them. how could they have been so ignorant?

the numbing sensation isn't what whumpee was expecting. but the lack of pain quickly drains the adrenaline out of them and they slump against caretaker, half asleep. "thank you," they whisper absently.

it's their birthday.

everything goes a little hazy around the edges, and they tongue at their cheeks, reaching out to taste metal that's not there, shoulders hunched in against invisible ropes. they crawl beneath the wide-legged bed. they're small enough to do so.

when caretaker comes looking for them, it doesn't really register. someone's there, and it has to be whumper. someone's screaming nearby.

whumper leaves. the scream fades away as they realise that they're the one who's been tearing their throat out. they curl into themselves. whumper will come again, soon. maybe with the hot poker. they shudder at the thought, unsaid apologies stinging their tongue as they crawl out. they don't want to be hurt even worse due to struggling. whumper would probably make it a game— a twisted version of whack-a-mole involving lots of burns.

when someone enters the room again, they don't scream. they remain pressed up to the furthest corner, knees folded to their chest. whumper is saying something, in strange soft tones. they can't hear any of it.

when whumper reaches out to grab them, instead of a bruising grip they're met with a hesitant touch. whumpee looks up. caretaker is crouched in front of them, looking wildly concerned. whumpee blinks. breathes. breaks down crying, eagerly climbing into caretaker's lap, held close and cradled tight as they smear tears and snot all over caretaker's nice, clean clothes. they aren't told off for it.

later when they've calmed down, caretaker asks them, "what happened, dear?" and they don't want to be hurt but it's out before they can stop it, "it's my birthday."

caretaker looks bemused, before they smile wide and wish them a very happy birthday. whumpee is taken aback. "would you like to bake a cake?" caretaker offers, careful not to push, to not break the fragile peace.

whumpee was expecting to be told what a misfortunate day today is. they were expecting a muzzle tight over their face to thwart screaming and biting and crying, ropes to prevent their kicking and scratching. they were expecting to be shoved in some closet, for the shame of being born.

they stare at caretaker, waiting for some forthcoming joke. when none comes, they agree, wary.

so, caretaker bakes a cake with them. it is sweet and soft and delicious. they're given a set of crayons as a "birthday gift". they draw and draw and draw, confused and marveling at the colors.