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oneshots/short series taglist: @whumpsday @jumpywhumpywriter

"What is it? I keep hearing, like... furniture being moved around. Do you need help?"

"I don't need your stupid help!" they snapped, but really, they were mad at themself. How could they be so careless so as to misplace something so important?

Caretaker opened their bedroom door anyway. "Are you looking for something?"

"It's none of your business!"

"I cleaned up your room a bit. Maybe I—"

"You did what?" Whumpee's frantic eyes snapped to them. "You went through my stuff?"

"I was cleaning! You never clean your room, so I thought—"

"Where did you put it?" Whumpee marched over to them, grabbing them with both hands by the collar of their shirt. They slammed Caretaker against the wall across from their bedroom door, then shook them a little for good measure. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" Caretaker squeaked.

"You know full well what I'm looking for, don't you?"

Caretaker pursed their lips. Whumpee shook them again.

"Tell me! Tell me where it is!"

"I threw it away," Caretaker mumbled.

"You what?"

"If it's about the pendant, I threw it away. It'd just keep reminding you of them."

"You had no right!" Whumpee reeled their hand back, and Caretaker turned away, squeezing their eyes shut. After a few moments passed and Whumpee hadn't hit them, they cracked one eye open.

"I just want you to move on," they said, still scared.

Whumpee was shaking with rage. They couldn't bring themself to lower their hand, nor could they bring themself to hit Caretaker. They pushed themself away from the wall and went to the front door. "I'm getting it back. Even if I have to go through everyone's damn trash."

"Whumpee—"

"Whumpee?"

Caretaker. Just outside their door.

"Friend is here. Can I let them in? They want to talk to you."

"Send them away," Whumpee said, in that skittish voice it said everything in anymore. It could practically see Caretaker furrow their brows.

"Are you sure?" they asked. "You've been... telling me you wanted to talk to Friend. That it's been so long—"

"Send them away!" Whumpee said, a little more forceful. It was scared. What was it scared of? It didn't know. But it was very, very scared.

"Okay," Caretaker said quietly, then walked off. Whumpee jumped out of bed and ran to the door, ear against the wood. "Hey, uh... Whumpee doesn't really... want to talk right now."

"Oh," Friend's voice came soft and disappointed. "I see."

"I don't know what's gotten into it. It's been talking about nothing but wanting to talk to you. And now that you're here—"

"It's okay. I'll come back another time."

"Thank you for understanding."

The front door was closed. Whumpee hurried back into bed.

It was a failure. Always had been, but it was even more pronounced at times like this. The only reason it made Caretaker send Friend away was because it was a failure.

See, Whumpee had no idea what it would tell Friend. Friend would ask what was up with it. And Whumpee? It was spending its days just like half a year ago, when Friend last reached out. Alone. In the dark. Popping prescription sedatives to keep sane. Not working. Not studying. Not getting better.

It was a failure.

It had always been a failure.

It would always be a failure.

It held its teddy bear tighter. It didn't want to be a failure.

Tears slipped down its cheeks. Why? Why why why why why why why?

It hit its own thigh as hard as it could. Then hit it again. The sound was a muffled thud, but it wasn't muffled enough, because Caretaker came to its door yet again.

"Whumpee? Everything okay in there?"

No.

"Yes."

"What's this sound?"

"I don't hear anything."

"Well, I don't either... Right now... But just a second ago..."

Whumpee hit its thigh again.

"There it is! What's this noise?"

"I don't hear anything."

It hit its thigh again.

"Oh," Caretaker said. "I might be... hearing it from another room. I'll check."

Footsteps receding. Whumpee hit itself again and again and again, and then when its thigh wasn't enough, it started hitting its head, and when its hands weren't enough, it grabbed the heaviest book it could find and banged its head against it.

"Whumpee, it's definitely coming from your room." Caretaker rattled the doorknob. "Whumpee, what are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Are you safe?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you."

They didn't have to. They'd said the bedroom was Whumpee's private space, a space they'd never intrude upon. It was safe, so long as the door was locked.

But then it heard the sound of a key being inserted, and then a lock clicking. Suddenly, there they were. Caretaker. Backlit. Squinting in the dark. Eyes landing upon Whumpee and the book.

"What are you doing?" they asked, horrified.

"Nothing."

"Are you... hitting yourself?"

"No. Why do you have a key to my door? Why was any of this necessary, then? The charade about privacy? Giving me a key?"

"It wasn't a charade, I didn't think I'd ever have to use the key, I just—"

"Get out."

"You're hurting yourself!"

"Get out!" Whumpee snapped. Caretaker looked taken aback.

"Whumpee..."

"Out, out out out out!"

"I just—"

"Out!"

Caretaker threw their hands in the air. They retreated, closing the door behind themself.

Whumpee jumped up from its bed and ran to its desk. It pulled out the medicine drawer. More sedatives. More pills. More to drown out the feeling that it was a failure.

It stumbled back to the door and locked it, even though now it new that had little function. Its vision was swimming.

Did it take more pills than it meant to?

It dragged itself back to bed. It hugged its teddy bear.

—

"Ugh!" Whumpee recoiled as a cramp set into their arm when they tried to reach for the cereal on the top shelf.

"Hey," Leader said, standing up from the table. "I'll get it for you."

"Thank you," they said, cradling their arm close to their chest. After having spent days tied up, their arms just weren't functioning well.

"Don't mention it."

—

"Augh!" A sharp, stabbing pain in their hip made Whumpee almost fall over as they walked. They immediately leaned on Medic, whom they were with, for support. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, I just need a moment—"

"That's okay," Medic said, letting Whumpee grip their shoulder as tight as they wanted. Or needed. "Just breathe."

"Thank you," they panted. It was so bad. They felt like they'd never take another step in their life.

"Just take it easy."

—

"Ah!" Whumpee cried during meeting.

Leader shot them a glare. "As I was saying—"

"Sorry," Whumpee mumbled, but then cried out again as the pain became more intense.

"Whumpee, can you not right now?"

"Sorry!"

"Seriously, get yourself together," Caretaker whispered to them.

"Maybe you shouldn't be in this meeting," Leader said. "It's not like you can come with us either way."

"No, please, I want to know what you guys will do—"

"Step outside, please."

Whumpee was still whimpering in pain, and everyone in the room was staring daggers at them. "I'm so sorry," they said as they tried to stand. They fell back into their chair as a wave of pain shot through them like electricity.

"I'll see them out," Medic said reluctantly, like Whumpee was such a bother. And they were. They were.

"I'm really sorry," they told Medic as they helped them out of the chair, towards the door.

"You can get back to your room alone, right?"

"Yes, of course, sorry—"

"Great. See you after meeting." With that, Medic slammed the door in their face.

Whumpee staggered towards their room. They didn't like being a bother. They wanted to get better. They were trying. But it wasn't getting better.

They were going to be kicked off the team.

They swallowed.

"Augh, fuck—" They fell to the floor, nerves alight with pain. "Ow, ow ow ow..."

But there was nobody around to help them.

Caretaker furrowed their brows. "But we agreed I'd let you stay here. No?"

"Yeah, but..." They made a vague gesture towards themself, their dirty clothes, their revolting hair.

"Oh," Caretaker said, like they'd only just noticed. "That's a simple fix. I have fresh clothes for you, and you can take a nice, warm bath. You can use my bodywash and shampoo. That'll do, right?"

Whumpee nodded mutely. It was more than they deserved.

"Great," Caretaker said with a smile. "Come in, then. I'll show you to the bathroom."

"Ah, there's... There's one more... one more thing," they stammered, afraid to voice their concern.

"What is it?"

"My arms... Whumper kept me tied up most of the time. Now they hurt so bad, I don't think I can lift them to wash my hair..." It was embarrassing. Humiliating. But Caretaker didn't make fun of them for it.

"I can help you wash your hair, if that's okay with you," they offered easily.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I'm here to help."

Whumpee felt tears pricking their eyes. Caretaker was so nice. "Okay," they said quietly. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Let's go."

They agreed on the following plan: Whumpee would rinse themself off, then they would fill the bath with nice, warm water. Once they were ready, they'd call in Caretaker, who would help them wash their hair.

So Whumpee did that. The amount of dirt and grime flowing down the drain during that rinse was absolutely foul. But then, when they filled the bathtub with warm water and actually just... lay there... submerged... oh... that was heavenly. It had been so long since they'd taken a proper bath.

"Caretaker?" they called after a bit, once the bubbles seemed plentiful enough to cover their disgusting body.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes. Please."

Caretaker opened the door and stepped inside. They didn't make it weird. They grabbed a stool and pulled it to the end of the bathtub where Whumpee's head was, and sat down. "Okay, I'll be very gentle."

"I'm sorry you have to do this," they muttered.

"Nonsense. Just relax and enjoy. I've been told I give nice scalp massages."

So Whumpee shut up and let Caretaker work their magic. And man, yes, whoever said that had been absolutely right. Caretaker's fingers were gentle yet firm, and Whumpee closed their eyes, quietly enjoying. It felt like a guilty pleasure. Like they didn't deserve it — which yeah, they absolutely didn't. But Caretaker was so kind. So generous.

They jolted awake when Caretaker turned on the water from the showerhead. Had they dozed off?

"Oops, sorry," Caretaker said with a little laugh. "Did I scare you?"

"No, no, it's okay."

"Okay."

Caretaker shampooed and rinsed their hair twice, just to get everything out. Then, like they hadn't just performed a strangely intimate and wonderfully benevolent act, they just stood up, told Whumpee to take as much time as they needed, and left.

That was that. Whumpee was flabbergasted. They had never met anyone so... selfless.

They stayed in the bath for what felt like another hour, feeling the water around them grow cold. Then they got out, towelled themself dry, put their hair up in a towel-turban, and put on the fresh clothes Caretaker had laid out for them.

They felt... clean. Restored.

They stopped at the bathroom door, hand lingering on the handle. It was okay. They weren't in a rush. And Caretaker was kind. It was okay.

They pushed down and exited. They found Caretaker on the sofa in the living room.

"Whumpee!" they said with a smile. "You look so much better. Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," they said with a tentative smile. "Thank you. I... I haven't been this clean in months. This has been wonderful."

"Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that. Wanna watch a movie while your hair dries?"

Wondering where all these freckles came from. And why. Do you have a thing for freckles? And busty blonde women? I'm not one. You made me into one. I hate it.

"Nothing," it said. It missed its original owner. The one who let it decide on major decisions regarding its look. "Just getting used to the look."

"Come, sit by me."

Whumpee forced itself to go. Obey. Obey. Obey.

Its owner took a strand of its blonde hair, twirling it around their finger. "If you want to know what you look like, just ask me. And I'll tell you every time that you're beautiful."

Gross.

"Thank you."

Its owner smiled. "Your previous owner had no taste. I'm so glad you're now mine. What a waste of potential, and for so many years."

Whumpee smiled softly. It did everything softly now. Lady-like. Whatever that meant.

Suddenly, its owner's grip on its hair tightened, and they pulled it close. Whumpee let out a small cry of surprise and pain.