More Words for Me

except, they never get to land that hit— the project gets defunded and them along with the other children are rescued. their caretaker is quiet, and they don't have any memories of before— before that acidic white room and the experiments.

they aren't expecting much, if anything at all— even this idea of being anything other than a weapon— a pistol loaded, a sword wielded, a bomb ticking— is absurd. hollow. unreal. they are waiting to wake up from another simulation, for the gotcha! from the whumper.

it doesn't come. days pass. they learn how to make tea. they are given books that aren't for the sole purpose of enhancing their intelligence. they are given soft things— warm sweaters, thick blankets, socks and gloves and pillows— and they are so different from the plain, thin robes of the lab. these are vibrant colors and they have texture that doesn't make their skin crawl. they learn that they love the color of the sky.

they learn to love their caretaker, who one day asks them to come sit with them near the fireplace. they rub whumpee's back gently, making the constant pain ease up under the warmth. they are given strange-tasting concoctions which help them sleep when their eyes won't close. they are given food that doesn't taste like mush, and the spices make their eyes water but they'd gorge themselves on this a thousand more times than ever eat that tasteless garbage again.

they learn to be a human. they learn to be whole. they learn to love their body, piece-by-piece, and build a life past the vague idea of dying on the battlefield, like a supernova exploding before fading forever.

after the first day of being as meticulous as they could be, they feel despondent upon not being allowed even half a glass of water. they want to ask what they did wrong, and if they could please not send them away— but they swallow all their questions as owner directs them to the room they'll be sleeping in. they lie down on the floor, looking at the ceiling as hunger cramps their stomach and pain lines their throat, swallowing thickly, dizzy and tired. they fall asleep in no time.

on second day, they know they have to try and figure out what mistake they might have made— did they leave dust to collect in some room? didn't do the laundry correctly? misplaced a book on the shelves? the lack of direction is making them sick with worry, and owner barely spares them a glance at breakfast. whumpee can't bring themselves to ask for instructions as owner leaves the house, staring at the fast fading figure in the window.

they try to be as thorough as they can be, but they feel weak and tired and cold. they go through the motions, and serve the dinner once owner comes back, barely steady on their feet. once again it is eaten in silence. owner moves to leave for their room when whumpee blurts— "I— I'm sorry, p-please could you tell me what I did wrong? I know it isn't my place, but, but—" owner looks confused, and whumpee rushes out, "canIpleasehavesomewater," bracing themselves for a beating.

owner doesn't understand. why is whumpee asking for permission to drink water? surely they've had some in the past two days?

or so they think. this is promptly proven incorrect as whumpee stumbles and tries grappling at the nearest surface, but instead manage to injure themselves and fall unconscious.

"I mean," owner says, "I was gone the entire day. the leftovers are still here, and..." cabinets snapping open and close, "you've clearly not used any groceries other than for dinner. did you order takeout?"

whumpee would never. they don't even know how to! the word order settles like a weight in their stomach as they shake their head. ofcourse, owner may decide that whumpee is lying after all— and duly punish them for their infraction. so far, they've managed to avoid punishment, but this was inevitable anyways, they tell themself. trembling, trembling.

"were you not hungry?" what kind of question is that? what does it matter if whumpee is hungry? "are you coming down with something?" cool fingers on their forehead smooth down their cheeks as whumpee struggles not to lean in. they don't want the gentle touch to become a punch. owner rarely touched whumpee, neither for pleasure nor for punishment— and they hope that if— when— they'll be disciplined, owner will hurt them with their hands and not a— cane, or a poker.

"hmm... you seem okay, though. hey, come on, why didn't you make yourself lunch?"

pause.

"I-I would never steal!" unthinking words tumble down their tongue. stealing is a death sentence for a slave. it's asking for a painful demise for bringing about disgrace on their owner. they would— they would never. they don't want to die, but if owner thinks, if owner thinks—

"hey. hey!" hands on their shoulders. "I never said that, oh, dear..."

whumpee doesn't want to die. their breaths are coming too fast. they don't want to die. there is a rattle, rattle, rattling sound. they'll take any punishment. they just—

whumper used to make them pay if they were any faster than them. they would snatch the plate away, would say, "you need to learn," and the food would go down the trash chute. begging would worsen their verdict. seeing it wasted, knowing it was their fault would make tears prick in their eyes as hunger clawed them bloody from within.

so they eat slowly, slowly, slowly as caretaker sits across from them, trying not to give in to their ravenous appetite. caretaker had already said to take it slow— a clear order and a crystal clear threat. they have to hide and chew and track the other's movements.

they take slow, seemingly heavy steps towards whumpee's corner, their hands outstretched to display the lack of any implements. whumpee shudders and shrinks into a tighter ball. that has never protected them, before.

there are words, but they can't really make them out over the roaring fear. they are grabbed and pulled to their feet. the chains are unlocked. whumpee stares at them, feeling untethered. they want them back.

then they are being led away. what is this? the question loops around their head, over and over, as they are bundled up and put into an ambulance. they are asked questions but their words are no longer theirs. the anxiety has them awake and alert even as their body droops with exhaustion.

isolation punishment in whump.

say whumpee tried to escape, and almost succeeded. Or hurt whumper, or killed someone working for whumper. something whumper would consider serious.

whumpee who gets trapped in basically a functional apartment- self restocking food and a working bathroom but no tv, or books, or board games, or anything made to entertain or keep them busy. there are no windows, and the lights turn on and off by themselves, and the door is heavy, dark, and grey- not to mention, locked. the only reason why their prison resembles a home is so that they would take care of themselves and wouldn’t be allowed to see the people who are giving them food or taking their dishes.

whumpee who starts hurting themselves just for something to do.

they get kept in there for sometime above a month, and when whumper finally comes in to check on them, they are so, so desperate for any kind of human touch.

whumpee who gets down on their knees in front of whumper, begging and pleading for forgiveness while sobbing violently. whumpee who’s just begging for whumper to not leave them alone. they’ll be good, they’ll be exactly whatever whumper wants them to be, just please don’t leave them. maybe whumper sees how desperate whumpee is to not be left alone, and decides based on that to leave them in there for a little while longer.

Or a whumper who likes to portray themselves as kind, holding whumpee in their lap while they cry and talking about how much they missed whumpee and how they hate doing things like this, but if whumpee would just be good, they wouldn’t have to.

whumper who found their breaking point, and every time they’re disobeying from then on, whumper just asks them if they want to go go back in their room, and whumper is instantly going completely silent. whumper smiles and ruffles their hair, saying something demeaning like ‘good pet’.

whumpee who never really gets over it. after recovery, they can’t be left alone at all so that they don’t have debilitating panic attacks. caretaker at a loss, because they love whumpee, but they have other obligations in their life and whumpee can’t come with them to all of them.

CW: Restraints, muzzled, collared

Whumper keeps Whumpee in an excessive amount of restraints (can’t move an inch for chains, collared, muzzled) to ensure that they won’t break out - even if Whumpee is completely cooperative

Whumpee who does fight back, who bites, claws, scratches, does everything they can to cause as much damage to Whumper as possible

Whumper who “has to” keep Whumpee constantly sedated

Whumpee is a danger to themself, intentionally or not, so Whumper has to protect them before they fatally injure themselves

Nonhuman Whumpee is percieved as dangerous and muzzled/shock collared before they can plead their case, if they even can

Caretaker who is scared of Whumpee!

Stranger Caretaker arriving to rescue Whumpee after defeating Whumper but hesitating when they realise who or what Whumpee is

Whumpee’s hope turning to dread as they see this, and silently begging for mercy

Whumpee who lashes out at Caretaker, who hurts then one day, and guilt hits them at full force

Whumpee who believes they’re a danger to Caretaker and takes it upon themself to remove themself from the equation

Caretsker who flinches when Whumpee moves suddenly

Whumpee wakes up after being rescued, filled with relief - only when they try to move they notice the chains, and the muzzle

Or Whumpee wakes up in a hospital but is restrained to the bed “for their own safety”

Whumpee is a living weapon or villain and everyone is scared of them - except Caretaker’s child

More whumper only taking it off during punishments

Drugged and terrified captive struggling to comprehend whats happening to them, only recognizing that something bad is happening to them, and that it will more than likely get much worse.

They’ve been sleeping for days and Caretaker gets worried every now and again. Should they let them keep sleeping? They’ve tip toed into the room every so often to check Whumpee’s pulse, feed them soup and water, but they just fall right back asleep.

They don’t interfere other than that, though. They know Whumpee must be so tired. They leave a nightlight on, adjust the ceiling fan setting, and leave the door ajar, just in case they happen to wake and need something.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced restraints, referenced broken bones, referenced blood, referenced gunshot, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Whumpee didn't understand what they were feeling. It wasn't pain. But it wasn't comfort either. Something was in their mouth and down their throat. Their chest expanded and contracted against their will. Their eyelids weight a thousand pounds each. They were so tired. They couldn't open them yet. They remembered Whumper pointing the gun at Caretaker and then everything went fuzzy.

Caretaker. What had happened to Caretaker?

The fear coursing through their veins was enough to get them to wrench their eyes open. "WHUMPEE!" Caretaker's excited shout came. Something squeezed Whumpee's hand as they tried to understand.

"You're in a hospital, Whumpee. You're ok. You're ok. You're on a ventilator. But you're ok. You'll be ok." Caretaker seemed to be saying the words to reassure themself.

Caretaker was ok. They were in a hospital. They were alive. They blinked at Caretaker.

"It was really touch and go for a while. But you're ok. You're ok. We're ok." Caretaker squeezed Whumpee's fingers. "Just focus on resting, Whumpee. I'm ok. Really. I need you to be ok, too."

And though Whumpee wanted to stay awake, they could barely keep their eyes open. Between Caretaker's fingers rubbing circles on their hand and what they were sure was heavy duty sedation, Whumpee let themself slip back into sleep. Caretaker would be there when they woke up.

***

Caretaker never let up on their grip on Whumpee's hands. Whumpee had woken. Whumpee was alive. Caretaker had to keep repeating the mantra in their head because it had felt very much like that was not the case.

They stared down at their hands. Their hands that had been coated in blood weeks ago when they arrived at the hospital. Their hands that had beaten Whumper into unconsciousness after Whumper shot Whumpee. Their hands that had begun to rip out their hair when they thought Whumpee was dead. Their hands that had lifted Whumpee's broken, bloody body to hold and mourn. Their hands that had helped keep Whumpee's blood inside when they realized that Whumpee was not dead. And their hands that kept Whumpee's heart beating while they waited for help to arrive.

So many things had happened. But Whumpee was alive. Whumpee would heal. Caretaker's thumb had healed weeks ago while Whumpee was still in a coma. Whumpee was alive. Whumpee was alive. Whumpee was alive.

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Whumpees who are usually stoic or composed suddenly being unable to breath or move without their brain short-circuiting into a panic attack; All because they thought they heard Whumper’s footsteps. Bonus, their Whumper noticed they recognize the sound of their footsteps and shoes, so they start switching up their strides and footwear. Whumpee can’t trust any sound anymore—all of them could be their Whumper—even the footsteps approaching that sound like their Caretaker.

Or, caretakers who have to sedate their Whumpee because every time they wake up, they’re trying to run and escape. They swore they’d only sedate if they absolutely had to, but Whumpee has already torn stitches from escape attempts, and nothing else is working. Better yet, when Whumpee is screaming and fighting them, and when Caretaker can finally get them restrained and still enough to sedate, they have to watch the fight leave their eyes. They have to watch as their Whumpee fears they will never wake up again.

And maybe Whumpee actually can escape their Whumper, but they’re in isolation, still trying to get to someone—anyone—to help. Every sound makes them jump and hide, because who knows if Whumper really let their security down on purpose, and they’re getting hunted for fun. Maybe, by the time they finally are found by Caretaker, Whumpee is delirious with fever from infection, or too desperate to actually think, and they run. After all, if Whumper had taught them anything, it was to trust nobody. No matter how worried or kind Caretaker looked, they’re still a threat. A threat that could take them out in a moments notice