This scenario would’nt leave my mind untill I wrote it down. Figured I might as well share it here >:))
Whumpee sustains a slash wound in his right side abdomen during a solo mission/task. He clumsily wraps it in a diy bandage and powers through and completes the mission (or maybe not, or in a different way than intended, depending on the plot), staggering, breathing heavily, clutching his side except whenever he encounters opponents, not wanting to reveal his weakness/disadvantage. The mission involves a lot of waiting and lurking, dragging it out, and he is slowly growing weaker from bloodloss, pain and eventually fever.
Finally, he is able to get to a safer location, and sets out to try and reach caretakers hideout, but the last adrenaline leaves him as soon as he is out of immediate danger, and he collapses against the wall of a dark alley. The pain and exhaustion has overpowered him, and now he is crying weakly, dazing into a half unconscius state.
After a while, he is stirred by something soft and wet touching his face. His eyes flicker open to see caretakers dog, sofly nudging at his chin, and he smiles weakly and pants with relief at the sensation of the familiar creature. He pets it with shaking hands and manages to croak ‘can you go get caretaker? Can you bring her here? Good girl…’ The dog wanders back into the darkness of the street, and he breathes heavily, his mind swimming in and out of doubt wether the animal understood him, hope that caretaker will find him, and fear that someone else will…
He sinks into complete unconsciousness, and after a while, jerks awake at a touch on his shoulder. He gasps, eyes wide and flickering, for a moment not knowing where he is and whether he’s in danger, until caretakers voice reaches him with a low, but soothing ‘hey, it’s me.’ He pants with relief and groans faintly as he feels caretakers hand cupping his neck, keeping his head from lolling back onto his shoulder. He cant help but lean into her gentle touch. ‘Shhh…’ she lulls, as she gingerly lifts his bloodied hands from their protective place covering the throbbing wound, to lightly press a folded cloth against it. A crackly whimper escapes his throat. ‘Sorry’ she whispers. ‘Can you keep a bit of pressure on it for me?’ she asks softly, guiding his hands back on top of the cloth. Her eyes linger on his for a moment, and the gentle relief in her expression almost makes him forget the pain for a second. She cracks a small, encouraging smile. ‘Lets get you out of here huh?’
With much trouble, panting and staggering, they make slowly but steadily towards the hideout, luckily not far away. He is lain on the couch, where she treats him as gently as possible, but the wound needs cleaning and having little pieces of cloth and dirt removed from it. He is too weak to do much but hiss, whimper and let hot tears escape is eyes and roll down his cheeks. For the stitching, caretaker turns on a little radio with some soft music, but neither that nor the couple of painkillers from the hideout's very humble supply that she made him swallow before, does much to help the searing, piercing sting of the needle in his already raw and throbbing side. Every time the needle punctures his burning skin makes him long to crawl out of his own body and walk far away from the sensation. She pleads him to lie still. ‘Keep steady as you can. I know it hurts, it won’t be for long. I promise’. He uses the last of his strength to fight the urge to squirm away from the needle, but can do nothing against the miserable groans and sobs pushing through his throat. His hands are weakly squeezing the fabric of the chouch, and little cuts and bruises on his face make their prescence known by stinging, as his muscles contract in involuntary grimaces of pain. His cheeks are stained with streaks through the dirt and dried blood. He is beyond thankful that only caretaker is here to witness him pathetically trying to bury his face in the nook between the arm and backrest of the couch.
