suffer and recover

Medic gave him time to pull himself together, only leaning in again when Villain gave a small nod to show he was ready.

He still flinched when she made contact and drew him into a warm embrace, resting her head on his chest. But then he relaxed, untensing his muscles. This wasn’t too bad. He wasn’t being hurt. He could tolerate this.

Hugs were different when he was the one initiating them. Like how he embraced Sidekick to reassure him. He always felt in control of those situations, interacting on his own terms. But surrendering that control to Medic felt too… vulnerable, despite knowing she’d never hurt him. It was hard to feel comfortable with it.

“It’s okay, Vil. Deep breaths,” Medic said, and Villain realized he’d been holding his breath. He let it out in a slow, shaky exhale.

“Good. Keep going,” Medic encouraged, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Breathe in, breathe out. You’re safe. Ground yourself in the present. Focus on your heartbeat, and match your breathing to mine if you can.”

Villain followed her instructions, shifting his attention to the panicked rhythm of his pulse and willing it to calm. Increment by increment, it slowed back to a normal beat, the tightness in his chest dissipating, and his shallow breaths eventually evened out.

Medic held him tight and ran a gentle hand through his hair, a solid presence to cling to amidst the darkness threatening to swallow him.

“Is that better?” she asked softly.

“Slightly. Thanks. I’m… sorry for bothering you this late in the night.”

“Nonsense. Teammates make sacrifices all the time for each other. It’s what makes us a functional family. Making sure you stay alive is worth losing a few hours of sleep.”

Villain winced at the last sentence, and Medic didn’t miss it.

“Hey… what’s going through your head right now?” she gently pried. “I know you’ve struggled with the idea of suicide in the past… are you thinking about it again? I didn’t want to make assumptions when you let me stay with you after I asked if it was safe to leave you alone, but…”

“It’s hard not to dwell on the idea sometimes,” Villain whispered, his voice barely more than a breath of air. “I’m just one life among millions. What difference does it truly make whether I live or die? What impact do I really have? Is it even worth it, to keep fighting, if I keep losing like this?”

“Oh, Vil…” Medic pulled out of the hug to look him in the eyes. “You are worth so much more than you think you are. You have been a blessing on all of us – can’t you see that? You rescued me, Henchman, Assistant, Vigilante… Sidekick… You bring healing to us all. You’re the one holding this team together.” She smiled softly at him. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, as are the others. When you feel like giving up, try to remember why you held on for so long. Don’t take it the wrong way, I’m not trying to minimize what you’ve been through – just because you carry it well doesn't mean it’s not heavy. I know that. I’m only trying to show you the brighter side.”

“I know you mean well, Medic, but…” Villain paused, mulling over his thoughts. “There comes a point where you no longer care if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel. And that's what makes me wonder… maybe if my heart stops beating it won't hurt this much. I feel like every day I get nothing done. Sure, I’m helping Sidekick heal, and I caught Hero, but… what else am I really accomplishing in life? I wake up, do normal daily things, and go to sleep again. I don’t feel like I have a purpose.”

Medic’s face tightened with knowing sympathy. “It's okay if all you did today was survive. You do know that, right?”

Villain tilted his head to the side, expression turning thoughtful. “Is it, though? If I do nothing else but… survive?”

“Yes. It’s more than enough. And if you’re not going to live for yourself… do you think you could live for us? Please? It would destroy us to lose you.”

Villain hesitated before replying.

“...Yeah. I think I can do that.”

Medic gave him another heartfelt hug, and this time he didn’t flinch. “Do you think it’s safe to leave you alone now, if I were to head back to bed?” she whispered.

Villain nodded. “I think I’ll be okay now,” he forced out. “Thank you for being here, Medic.”

“Always.” Medic climbed off his bed, readying to leave, but paused, eyes darting to Villain’s sheathed dagger she’d set on the nightstand, expression darkening with unease. She delicately picked it up in her hand. “I’m going to confiscate this for the night, okay? Just… just in case.”

Villain knew he wouldn’t win this particular argument if he tried, so he begrudgingly nodded, letting her leave with his dagger. Once he was alone in his bedroom again, though, he slowly sat up, slipping a hand under his mattress… and pulling out the spare throwing knife he always kept there. Medic didn’t know about that one.

He flipped it in his hand a few times, feeling its weight. Then… he brought the sharp blade to rest on the soft underside of his wrist. Not applying pressure to cut, just… holding it there. It was no less lethal than his dagger was.

The urge was there. Somewhere in his mind. A permanent solution to all his problems. It wouldn’t take much effort at all to break the skin and slash his wrist wide open. He’d visualized it in his mind many times in the past – what dying would feel like. The sensation of bleeding out, darkness creeping in on the edges of his vision, rushing in to sweep his mind away to a place where he could feel no pain. Where the memories wouldn’t haunt him anymore.

But… Sidekick. His team. They still needed him. For now, at least, he was needed. Perhaps later on when his team could function on their own, he could revisit this idea of permanent freedom and sweet escape. But for now… he could suffer a little longer, if it meant ensuring the safety of those close to him.

Villain hesitated, tempted, but finally took the blade away from his wrist with a shaky, trembling exhale, staring at the indentation it had left in his skin. A perfect straight line. A ghost of a slashed artery yet to be.

With a frustrated groan, he jammed the throwing knife back beneath his mattress, laying down again and shoving his face into his pillow to muffle a single anguished wail.

He’d let himself live for another day. Unfortunately.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

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Worthwhile: The thief wonders if he's seeing things after the flogging.

The Looking Glass: Breanna goes out for lunch and gets some advice from a friend.

The Boy in Chains: Breanna visits the thief in prison.

Real: The thief goes through his usual coherent, polite internal monologue during the visit from some woman named Bree.

Stealth and Secrets: Breanna does several things she isn't supposed to do.

Guilty: Gysborne takes a sick day, which provides an interesting opportunity for the thief.

I Never Even Knew Your Name: Another visit? Some might say this girl is playing with fire.

Deceived: The thief's POV on Breanna's third visit.

Liar: The thief faces the consequences of Hatchett finding out about Breanna's visits.

Retribution and Regret: Breanna starts off in the depths of despair and ends up with a plan.

Worthless: For the thief, the aftermath from Breanna's third fateful visit continues.

The Queen of Lies: Breanna takes a leap of faith.

Faith and Freedom: Finally free, Breanna and the thief make their way through the city under cover of darkness.

Dawn: The thief wakes up and realizes that, yes, he really is free. Time for some awkward getting-to-know-you conversations.

Hope and Healing: Bree and Fox slowly recover, getting to know each other better as the days go on.

The Drop, Part I: Bree and Fox begin to search for IA's inner circle.

The Drop, Part II: Fox drops his message and visits the townhouse, then stumbles across an interesting altercation on his way back to the inn.

The Mark of Thieves: Well, what else is there to do while you're waiting to hear back from the inner circle?

The Stranger: Will goes to retrieve their belongings from the inn; Bree makes a new friend.

Trust and Treachery: Bree tries to find her place in Iustitia aecum. No one's plans for anything go as expected (or desired).

What Did He Do To You?: Husband and wife are reunited.

A Worthless Criminal Condemned: Will and Geoff make a run for it; Colette finds out what happened to Bree and Jamie.

Her Speech is Nothing: Bree must face the consequences of her actions...and her lies.

The Madwoman: Bree spends her first night at the asylum, meeting her doctor, a kind patient and a not-so-kind nurse.

The Madman: Will is struck with an idea that just might help Bree escape the asylum. But setting it in motion is a risky move.

Nullum Magnum Ingenium: Bree receives a visitor, a gift, a spark of hope, and a terrible revelation.

***All chapters after this point are on ao3, not Tumblr.***

Not Alone: The day of the concert arrives, but nothing goes according to plan.

A Growing List of Offences: The gang discovers who is following them...and must decide what to do about it.

You Have Me: With Bree finally back in his arms, Will is determined to save Jamie, too. The question is...how?

Leap of Faith: The constables have agreed to the trade; Colette wants to be sure that everyone is ready. Are they?

Mine For Yours: It's time for the trade, and the fate of Iustitia aecum rests on Bree's shoulders. Can she save both Jamie and herself—or will her grand plan end up nothing but a failure?

Light Through Yonder Window: After her leap off the bridge, Bree must fight to stay alive—and free.

Some Consequence Yet Hanging in the Stars: Will has no idea where Bree is following the hostage exchange. He's desperate to find her, but danger is coming for him, too.

Tempt Not a Desperate Man: Bree needs to find Will and get to safety. One problem: Curtis Lenton is in her way.

Put Not Another Sin On My Head: Will and Hatchett have the showdown they've both been gunning for.

This Same Wayward Girl: Things seem hopeless for both Bree and Will. But this close to her happily ever after, Bree won't give up.

Fortune's Fool: The moment we've all been waiting for: Bree (and Will...kind of...) versus Hatchett. Who will win?

Never Was a Story of More Woe: Two concerned conversations as overheard by our delirious, injured protagonists.

I Defy You, Stars: Bree's happily ever after was stolen from her. But is everything as it seems?

A Death-Marked Love: The newspaper reports on a tragic death.

Love's Heavy Burden: Will is lost, drowning in grief and guilt, but there may be hope yet.

As Boundless as the Sea: Bree and Will are reunited.

The End 💕

There was no pain, either. He reached for his shoulder with his left hand.

“Whoa, wait,” Todd said, seizing Marcus’s wrist. “Not yet. Like I told you, it’ll be about twenty-four hours before the tissue fully grows to fuse with the arm. You’ve got a sling on for now, okay? That sound good?”

Marcus swallowed tightly. His eyes slowly focused on Todd’s face, hovering a few inches above his own. “Why do I feel so weird?” he croaked.

“I ended up sedating you,” Todd said, releasing Marcus’s wrist. “You don’t remember that? You started to pass out and… and panic, I guess. I couldn’t manage both you and the install. I asked you if I could… you said—”

The memory flashed behind Marcus’s eyes, here and gone in an instant.

“D-do whatever the fuck you… fuck, I… I can’t… Jake…”

He nodded weakly. “I let you,” he said. “I remember.”

Todd let out a breath. “Yeah. I didn’t… I didn’t… force…”

Marcus’s eyes pricked with tears, with relief. “Y-yeah,” he said softly. “I know.” He glanced down at his… at his one remaining flesh-and-blood arm. He was still receiving fluids through an IV taped to the inside of his elbow. Suspicion prickled in the back of his mind as his eyes followed the tubing up to the bag hanging from a stand by his head. “And am I… are you… still giving me… something?”

Lars stepped away from the wall, looking even more exhausted than when they brought him to this place. “Nothing in there but saline, Marcus,” they said. “I’ll… if it’ll make you feel better, we can put a line in me, give me some. I’m probably dehydrated as it is.” They shrugged and leaned against the foot of the surgical table Marcus lay on.

He met their gaze, trembling slightly as he opened and closed his hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For… for bringing me here. For everything.”

A smile tugged at their lips. “Yeah, Marcus. I’m glad I could help. Truly. I wish you’d come to me sooner, but I’m glad you came to me at all. I’m glad that this—” They gestured at his shoulder. “—worked out.”

Marcus finally allowed himself to glance down at Todd’s handiwork. Clean, tidy dressings stretched across his shoulder, obscuring the border between his amputated flesh and the shiny new arm.

Looking at the arm, though, made him feel dizzy all over again. Not with nausea or pain – but with awe. The intricate metal piece extended from his shoulder like it had always belonged on his body, and Todd had just been waiting to attach it. It lay against his chest, cradled in a medical grade sling – an astronomically expensive piece of equipment gifted to a broken Lev like someone else might give someone else a dollar. He gingerly ran the fingertips of his flesh hand along a seam in his new bicep. He didn’t feel the touch. He hadn’t expected to.

“That touch is a little light for the sensors to be able to pick up and transmit,” Todd said. “They do better with firmer pressure. The muscles are the things that are going to take the full twenty-four hours, but… you might have some neurological attachments formed already. Here.” He reached out and gently took Marcus’s metal fingers in his. “Let me know if you can feel this.” He squeezed Marcus’s second and third fingers and watched Marcus’s face.

Marcus’s stomach swooped as the sensation passed through him. There was something not quite perfect about it – as if he was being touched through a glove. But he felt it. He felt it.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

Todd grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I kinda live for this part.”

Marcus tried to sit up. “I—”

“Let me help,” Todd said. “You use your shoulder for a lot more than you think.” He scooped his arm behind Marcus’s shoulders and lifted. Marcus’s skin crawled, but he allowed the touch. It was better than tearing a connection between himself and the new arm and ruining Todd’s handiwork.

He swung his legs down off the table and sat on the edge. “Okay,” he croaked. “I’m… Todd, I can’t thank you enough for this. Twenty-four hours, and then I can start looking for Jake, right? I’m not sure where I’m going to start, but… I know he was arrested. I have a date. I can work backward from there.”

Lars cleared their throat. “I have a lead, if you want somewhere more definitive to start.”

Marcus leveled his gaze at them. “You have… a lead? And you—”

And you didn’t tell me?

They wet their lips, as if they could tell what he was thinking. “Yeah,” they said. “I do. I’ll tell you on one condition. But it’s a pretty fucking large, very firm condition.”

Rage and distrust rose in Marcus’s gut as he stared them down. “And that is?”

“That you stay with either me or Todd for the full twenty-four hours once I tell you. Todd isn’t fucking around with this. You will absolutely tear your shit up if you try to go after Jake before the nanobots have the time to finish with their work. And I’m telling you, you cannot save Jake if you don’t let them work.”

Todd nodded. “I left as much of your own tissue in as I possibly could,” he said. “But if you do… any amount of activity before the time is up… I’ll have to go in, remove more tissue, and do the entire install over again. The clock will start again. So you… really do need to not use that arm at all for twenty-four hours.”

Marcus ground his teeth in annoyance. “I get it,” he said. “Now will you tell me what the fuck this lead is?”

Lars huffed and tilted their head back. “Well,” they said. “This town is a pretty good place to live – AMTEC usually leaves us alone in general – but there is one person in town who I know for sure is an AMTEC employee. Lower level, definitely, since he lives here and takes the train into the city for work every day, but… he’s AMTEC. So… I don’t know. Might be a good place to start.”

Heat flooded Marcus’s throat. He felt his bionic hand twitch against his chest, felt it want to curl into a fist – or curl around this person’s throat.

Someone from AMTEC lives in this town and I had no idea. I could have gone after them from the start. I could have figured out where Jake was weeks ago and—

And what? He couldn’t have saved Jake, not without a working right arm. He needed Todd to fix him before he saved Jake. He couldn’t have done anything without Todd, and without Lars, either.

He nodded once, jaw clenched so tight it was making his head hurt.

Lars swallowed. “You still need to wait the full—”

“I know,” Marcus said through his teeth. “I won’t go after this person until I’m better. I promise.” He rolled his head on his neck and had to stop himself from rolling his shoulders. “But once I’m better… just give me an address, or give me a name. I’ll start with this person. And I’m not going to stop until I have Jake back.”

Or until the entirety of AMTEC is burning. If Jake is dead, there isn’t anything on this planet that can save a single one of those fuckers now.

If you want to be on the taglist (including for the spicy chapters,) let me know! I only tag people in 18+ chapters if I know they are adults through conversations or if their age/age range is in their bio.

It just… kept going. The pretence. The performance. For God’s sake, it wasn’t even a good performance. Every laugh rang hollow on the inside. Every moment of silence saw Whumpee staring at the wall with that look in their eyes because they'd forgotten people were watching. The other week, Friend had raised their hand to gesture while speaking, and Whumpee flinched so hard they nearly toppled out of their seat. Then, as if all was right with the world, they brushed off Friend’s concern with a dismissive “Hm? Oh, no, I’m great! Just a little tired today, I guess.”

And they were tired that day, but not from a simple poor night’s rest, but because they’d woken up screaming in the middle of the night. The sound had echoed through the house so loudly it had tugged Caretaker from her sleep and straight into a cold sweat. She had rushed to Whumpee’s bedside, only to be met with their insistence that she must be imagining things and that nothing was amiss.

They had nightmares most nights, and every time without fail they acted like everything was perfectly fine and dandy despite the glassy sheen in their eyes and the tremble in their hands.

It was the same story every time Caretaker tried to address the elephant in the room. No matter how gently she tried to say, “Whumpee, please, we should talk about what you went through…”, Whumpee’s brittle smile would stretch taunt and they would say, “Nothing happened. I’m fine, there’s nothing to talk about.”

She tried a million things. Sat with them in silence, hoping for a hint of genuine vulnerability. Approached the topic of therapy, thinking that maybe Whumpee would talk to someone else even if they wouldn’t talk to her. Tried to get them to take the day off work so they could spend time together. Every attempt was more futile than the last. Whumpee refused to even acknowledge that anything had happened to them. Caretaker knew it wasn't about her- God, she knew. She reminded herself daily. But she was tired, running herself ragged trying to figure out what to do. Desperation was kicking in.

By the end of the fourth week, Caretaker had had enough. This couldn’t go on forever — the other shoe had to drop. Something had to give.

“We need to talk.”

Whumpee was standing with their back to her as they looked through the pantry. They stilled almost imperceptibly at her words, shoulders tense, but after a moment they casually reached up to grab a box of cereal. “About what?”

A prickle of frustration rippled across Caretaker’s skin. That tone — the one that meant they’d already decided not to even entertain the idea of hearing her out. She took a deep breath, trying to settle herself as Whumpee crossed the kitchen to get a bowl. “You know what,” she told them firmly, “It’s not some- some mysterious secret. I’ve been trying to talk to you about it for weeks.”

Whumpee’s breathing got a little uneven, fingers unsteady as they poured cereal into the bowl. They were facing Caretaker now, but they hadn’t even glanced her way once. After a moment, they spoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You-” Caretaker bit back whatever was about to come out of her mouth. She knew her anger would only make this worse but she couldn't help it. Agitated, she continued. “You brush me off every time, Whumpee. I get that it must be hard, but what Whumper did to you isn’t just going to go away!”

Whumpee froze. Their gaze flicked from where it had been fixed on their meal up to Caretaker’s face. “Have you considered,” they gritted out, voice a fragile calm, “that I don’t want to talk to you about it?”

There it was. They had admitted it — finally, they had admitted that there was something to talk about. It should have felt like a win, but something about the way their eyes looked after she had said Whumper’s name made the tiny victory fall flat. “I know you don’t, okay? I get it. It’d be fine if you… didn’t want to discuss it with me. But you won’t with anyone. You just pretend it didn’t happen, and that’s not healthy! Saying you’re fine doesn’t make it true!”

“I am fine!” They snapped, flakes of cereal scattering across the counter as the box slammed down.

“You’re not!” Caretaker erupted. “I KNOW you’re not fine! And you know what? Everyone can see it! Do you not see the way people look at you?” She raked her hands through her hair as she paced across the tile floor, eyes prickling with unwelcome tears. “We’re not blind! We can see the way you flinch all the time, the- the constant exhaustion, the fake smiling! We can all tell!”

Silence fell, the air abruptly empty. Whumpee was looking at her, their dark circles more pronounced than ever, and something… changed. A derisive laugh clawed its way out of Whumpee’s throat, curling into something explosive. “You want to talk about it? FINE. Let’s fucking talk!”

Dread pooled in Caretaker’s belly. She got the distinct feeling that this was going very, very wrong. Her lips parted to speak, but Whumpee wasn’t done yet.

“Let’s talk about how Whumper used to chain me up so now I can’t wear anything around my ankles or wrists without feeling like I’m back there!” The words sliced through the room, Whumpee’s fingers encircling their own wrist before their hands snapped apart. They pushed away from the counter, fingers trembling. “Let’s talk about how Whumper would show me his shiny new blades before using them on me, as if they were some f-fucking new toy he was so keen to try out!”

“Whumpee,” Caretaker whispered, going unheard over Whumpee's rising intensity.

“Let’s talk about-” they inhaled sharply. Their mouth twisted as they stepped closer to her. “Let’s talk about how I can’t sleep because every time I try, it’s like his hands are on me again!” To Caretaker’s horror, Whumpee was crying now. Their breaths were quick and shallow, hitching with every exhale. Every word was steeped in bitter mocking. “Oh, oh, this is a good one — let’s talk about about the time he tied me down and fucking waterboarded me!”

She couldn’t breathe.

Whumpee lips turned up, and this time, it was less of a grin and more of a sarcastic baring of the teeth — stretched too wide and ugly, it made no attempt to disguise itself as a genuine smile. Tears dripped down their chin as they spread their hands in a this is it gesture. “Is this what you wanted? Do you feel better about yourself now?”

“I-” Caretaker’s voice came out strangled. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

They just stared at her for a moment, the fire in their eyes sputtering out into glowing embers. Then they brushed past her, their shoulders knocking together. “Yeah. I figured,” they muttered.

The crushing feeling in her chest got heavier with every step they took. Still, she did nothing. Just… watched them go, until they disappeared down the hallway to their room.

Caretaker stood there, brief and aimless. Salt bled into her mouth, mingling with the copper of her bitten tongue. The grief trapped behind the bars of her ribcage yawned and stretched, making itself at home. Slowly, she sank into a barstool at the counter, eyes landing on the box of cereal and the bowl on the counter. Uneaten. A wet sob caught in her throat, and her head fell into her hands. “Shit.”

Taglist: @lelkokkay (i thought i'd tag you because you seemed interested in this!! let me know if you want me to remove the tag though) @whumpawaydarling

He pushed the cart, unloading its contents and placing them on the shelves where they belonged. Twisting things around so the labels faced forward like they were supposed to.

Whumper reappeared, sighing contentedly as he reclined to watch Whumpee work. “Good boy. What a good pet you are, following your orders.”

Whumpee shook his head with a grumble, just barely keeping himself from muttering I’m not a ‘good boy’. I’m forty-six. Even without that added tidbit, he was already getting an odd look from the new girl working beside him, a kid about half his age. He gave her an awkward smile to try and save it, but she quickly looked away, and he dropped the effort. Whatever. She was seasonal anyway, just some college kid trying to earn something over the summer.

Maybe if things had been different, he’d have a daughter her age. That ship had long since sailed, too.

Despite his internal protests, Whumper continued to coo at him about being a good boy and a good pet as he did his damn job. He’d learned to mostly ignore it by now. Better that than… the opposite.

“So, uh, what are you studying?” he asked, just to distract himself.

The girl startled. “Oh! Social work. Yeah. About halfway through. Junior year around the corner.” She spoke a little too quickly.

Whumpee couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” the kid demanded, somehow seeming a little more comfortable then.

“I just know a lot of social workers. Nothin’ against it, just thought it was funny. It’s good people, most of ‘em.” Most.

“Oh.” The girl relaxed a little, walking with him as they moved to unload more product. “And they… help?”

“What, with the talking to myself? I mean, not enough, I guess.” Was that rude? He’s been way too rude during this conversation. He’d let himself slip in Whumper’s absence.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

He raised a hand in peace. “It’s fine. It takes a lot more than that to offend me.”

“Bad pet,” Whumper admonished with a tsk-tsk. “You know better than to interrupt.”

Whumpee flinched, just barely managing to stop himself from dropping the box he was unloading to grovel. “I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

There. Normal thing to say. Not so hard.

The kid eyed him curiously, not that Whumpee could figure out what it was this time. “It’s fine.” And lightly, with a smile, “Takes a lot more than that to offend me.”

“She’s cute,” Whumper whispered in his ear. “I’ve been needing a new pet, ever since you left me. You were getting older anyway. Maybe she could take your place.”

Whumpee whipped around so fast his head spun. “Shut up! Don’t you dare say that about her! What’s wrong with you!?”

The girl gasped, dropping her box. Something shattered inside it, spilling red through the cracks, just like him.

Whumper trailed a finger up Whumpee’s throat to his chin. He could swear he could feel it. “You don’t talk to your master that way, pet. You know what comes next.”

“Mr. Whumpee?” the girl asked, voice small, tears in her eyes.

Whumpee dropped to the ground, cowering on the floor with his arms over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

By that point, others were rushing over, a cavalcade of coworkers pushing themselves between them and all talking at once so he could hear none of them.

“Just give me a minute,” Whumpee begged. Whether it was Whumper or the real people he was begging, he wasn’t sure. “I just need a minute. Please. Just a minute.”

“I’m fine, give him some space,” he distantly heard the kid say among the rumble.

After a couple minutes, he dared to uncover his face. She was still there, though everyone else had left. She crouched as soon as she could see his eyes. “Hey,” she said, gentle. “You alright?”

“I guess.” He pushed himself up to sitting, wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve. “Sorry you had to see that.”

She shrugged. “Sorry you had to experience it.” And then: “I also know a lot of social workers. For the record. It’s why I decided to go into it.”

“Ah, a kindred spirit.” Though he doubted it was for the same reason. At least, he damn hoped so.

“Thanks for defending me from the voice you were hearing. That’s what you were doing, right?” She offered him a hand.

Whumpee took it, getting back to his feet. “Yeah. He’s a dick.”

The girl laughed. “I bet.”

-

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