#car accident (whump)

[whump-or-whatever]

The Whumpee is in the drivers seat of their car, Caretaker in the passenger. They pull up into a parking spot along the road. Whumpee says “I’ll just be a minute” and goes to get out of the car. Another car comes speeding down the road and clips Whumpee, sending them crashing to the pavement, before speeding off. Caretaker jumps out of the car, screaming Whumpee’s name, and rushes over to check on them.

[syncope-syndrome]

Because @whumpprentice and I keep getting recommended car blogs... car whump!

Seriously, where amongst my #cats, #nature, #pretty people fainting do you think I'm interested in cars, Tumblr?

TW: CAR ACCIDENTS, KIDNAPPING, DROWNING, VOMITING, DRUGGING

being trapped in the trunk of a car left out in the sun. they've slipped out of the restraints a few minutes ago, but the metal's too hot to safely touch, the heat exhaustion is weakening them, and there's not a sound from the outside. sweat makes their hands too slick to grab onto much securely and dripping into their eyes, mingling with the tears forming at the thought of them baking alive in this car, alone, and no one coming until it's too late.

sitting in the front seat next to their captor, the whumper's hand heavy on their knee as a reminder to stay quiet. the whumpee stares helplessly at the officer checking the car's registration, handing it back to the whumper with a smile and bidding them both a good day and a warning to go a little slower next time. there's triumph in the whumper's responding laugh, and the whumpee's heart sinks into their stomach as their potential savior walks away.

trying to slide their way out between two cars nearly crushing them, feeling the metal of the first car's bumper and the second car's license plate scraping and tearing into their skin with every little sidle.

a vital limb pinned down by crunched-up metal, the impact harsh enough to break bone. even if they wanted to move, they couldn't either way, trapped in by the wreckage and the intensity of their pain both.

a car sinking beneath the water, a whumpee's desperate struggle to try and shatter a window to escape. they bang their hand onto the glass until it's bruised, taking in a last-ditch lungful of air before they're completely submerged. finally, they find something sturdy enough to break the glass, but they have to pull themselves through the mangled window. every shard of glass that digs in or slices them brings a gasp of pain, and every gasp threatens the very little oxygen they have left.

a fever-ridden head pressed against the rain-cooled window, the passing streetlights and zooming cars a blur as the whumpee fades in and out.

trying to use anything and everything to keep the blood off the linen seats — the car's an antique, a rental, a friend's. if there was any other option, they wouldn't be in it at all... but there isn't. all they can do is smear more and more blood on their clothes, their blankets, even their bag in an utterly desperate and mispriortizing attempt to keep the car itself clean.

weaving through traffic with eyes on the rearview mirror, looking for the headlights of the car that's been following them for far too long. it's still there, even as they make a risky merge off the highway. it's still there, even as they make too many right turns through an unassuming neighborhood. it's still there, even as they run a red light to try and finally ditch them. relief floods their body as the tailing car stops, then there's a sickening, screeching crunch of metal on metal, and darkness.

rushing home after a bad date and an even worse dinner, struggling to focus on driving while working their throat hopelessly to keep their food from coming up again. their friend's voice drones on and on, blurring in the background as they lose the battle against their illness just as they pull into their residence.

a caretaker trying to hold a whumpee in place as the car swerves and weaves frantically towards the hospital. every sharp turn aggravates their condition, and the caretaker's voice is nearing overwork from the constant, reassuring whispers towards whumpee and the stern warnings towards the driver.

getting into a car after a party, stumbling into the arms of the all-too-eager-to-help driver. at the time, they think nothing of it, letting themselves lounge in the haze of a wild night out... but wait. they don't know this person well enough to get into their car like this. ... they didn't have that many drinks... this isn't their neighborhood... when they try to express this, their words slur to the point that the driver can't — or won't — understand them, and as their consciousness fades, the realization hits. that's not their friend's voice... it's whumper's.

[whumpkinz]

The police find a battered, bruised, gagged, crying and restrained Whumpee locked in the trunk of a car after a head on collision. Scared as all hell but better off compared to Whumper who's legs were pinned, then crushed, and upper body thrown harsh into the steering wheel that came to meet them crushing their chest as well. Whumper doesn't die immediately but within a minute or two of the crash.

---

On the flipside Whumper's heart drops when they feel the other car collide with their backside. It takes a moment to collect themselves before realization kicks in. They immediately get out of the car ignoring anyone else around them trying to get their attention and go towards their trunk. A sinking feeling fills their stomach as they see the trunk has been crushed and rightfully guess Whumpee was in a similar state if they were even alive at all. Anger and anxiety fill their chest but they push it all down and flee the scene not taking any chances.

[shyday-ao3]

@augusnippets day 6. Managed to hit 500 words exactly. Prompt car accident, Doctor Strange fandom. Set at the beginning of the first movie.

‘I hear you’re refusing your pain meds,” Christine accuses as she sweeps into his room.

“I hear there’s this thing called HIPAA.” Stephen slits his eyes open to peer at her. “Why are you hearing anything? Was it Rosall?”

“I’m not saying. But go easy on her. I am your emergency contact. Practically your GP.”

“I’m changing that as soon as possible.” His throat hurts. It takes work to get his voice above a hoarse whisper. 

“Be nice,” she says, apparently unphased. “You’d be in a better mood if you weren’t in pain, you know. Why aren’t you taking your meds?” 

His gaze takes in both of his tractioned hands. He’s not sure if he’s ever going to be in “a better mood” again. “Not refusing,” he grunts, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at them. “Titrating down.”

“You need them right now, Stephen. There’s no shame in that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. I can see you sweating.”

He wants to move. Sleep on his side. Stephen squirms, already sick of this permanent position. His shoulders, elbows ache. “Maybe I’ve got a fever,” he tells her.

“Not according to this fancy machine. I can read it too, remember.”

“Crash didn’t give me brain damage,” he snaps.

She holds up both hands in surrender; his bicep twitches, the closest he can get to moving his own. They’re starting to really wake up now, bright sparks erupting across his pinned fingers. He fights to breathe through the pain. It’s already bordering on excruciating, but the longer he can go without the heavy meds the faster he can get out of here.

“Are you hungry at all?”

He coughs out a laugh. “No.” Immediately he regrets it. He should’ve said yes, gotten her out of the room before this gets worse. “Maybe.”

“Convincing,” she says. “Really, Stephen. Let me give you something.”

“No. I’m f–ngghgh– fuck –”  The pain is sharp and blinding, momentarily breathtaking. His upper body comes up off the bed, instinctively trying to curl around his hands. One of the tears in his eyes escapes to crawl over his bruised cheek.

“Okay… it’s going to be okay…” 

He doesn’t see her hit the morphine pump, but he feels it a moment later. He sucks in a ragged breath that sounds too much like a sob as his hands start to go blessedly numb. With fingers on his shoulder she eases him back down onto the pillows. The knots in his shoulders begin to loosen. 

“It’s only been three days, Stephen. Give yourself time to heal.”

Weightlessness and shattered glass. What if he never heals from this? The morphine pulls at his focus, stretching, dissipating. Dragging him down with its own particular gravity.

“Do you want to talk about it? The accident?”

“Want to sleep.” If he could turn his back on her and pull the sheets over his head, he would. Instead he has to settle for closing his eyes. 

He stays that way until she leaves the room.

[worldboywhump]

Home And Away: Ep 7620 (He’s in extreme pain😩)

[sparkchemy]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 2 - Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”

Artemy's dumb 16yo self on his first day in the Capital not looking both ways because there are no cars in Town-on-Gorkhon. Lucky for him, there was a kind bystander nearby...

(I will make these prompts work, just watch me xD)

@whumperless-whump-event

[where-is-my-whump]

+bonus😏

The Mentalist 5x08

[whump-side]

Whumperless Whump Event

Day 2 - Does your insurance cover this? : Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XVIII)

New Player on the board

Part one // Masterpost // Continued from here

This part is dedicated to @neongalaxiie for their comment that made me smile today, I hope you enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

Ambrose got Kit into the car with relative simplicity. He was surprisingly lighter than before, which didn’t concern Ambrose. Not at all, it was just some information he stored in his head in case he needed it in future. Perhaps this time Ambrose can actually feed the hero properly…

Well, he could decide all that on the way. Right now he had to decide whether or not to throw the hero in the boot or in the backseat. He settled on the backseat, it was easier to keep an eye on the hero in case that red lightning guy came back.

Ambrose suppressed a shiver at the thought of that. That thing wasn’t Kit Mallory. Or, not the one Ambrose knew anyways. It did add to his curiosity about the boy, what kind of life he lived with Mentor. Ambrose set him in the backseat sitting up, hands cuffed in front of him with power dampeners just in case. He strapped the seatbelt over Kit and plugged it in before slamming the door shut and walking around to the driver’s side.

Ambrose didn’t exactly drive… under the radar. He was what his assistant would call a petrolhead, and it wasn’t a nickname he loathed. Ambrose had loved cars since he was five and his parents brought him to a vintage car show. He could still remember the first time he sat behind the wheel of a 1954 Bentley R-Type continental, he knew that he had to have one. A car that was, not a Bentley, he wasn’t some wedding chauffeur.

His obsession with cars only grew from there, from his first Volkswagen to now. His beast, his beauty, his pride and joy: a 2016 Rolls-Royce Wraith, with a monster 6.5 Litre Twin-Turbo V12 engine under the bonnet, custom painted black exterior. He had to get Tony to paint the door handles too (who almost cried when she saw it). Ambrose replaced the original wheels with forgiato wheels to add to the sleekness of the car. Original white, leather interior still as good as the day Ambrose bought it.

He loved it more than anything in the world.

And it was all his.

It represented everything that he wanted people to associate with him. Elegant, opulent, and functional, above all functional. The grace, style and status were just perks that came along with it.

It was late, close to ten when Ambrose got onto the main road. He could take the quick way through the backstreets to his house, but he hadn’t seen the city of like lights for what felt like a long, long time. He took the left into the city and drove along at a leisurely pace.

The radio was playing softly in the background, the Wraith’s purrs making up most of the background noise. Ambrose let out a soft sigh as he pulled up to a red light. He glanced in his rearview to see Kit still fast asleep. No red veins or blue ones, his head lolled against the window.

There was something so innocent about the gesture that made Ambrose look sharply away, eyes turning front again. He never had a little brother or sister, but in that moment, some small part of him — some delusional, sentimental part — wondered if this was what it was like. Checking the rearview to make sure that his brother was sleeping soundly, that he wasn’t showing any signs of pain or distress, or psychotic mania.

He wondered if he would be a good older brother in this hypothetical. Then he quickly disregarded the thought. Such a silly little thought experiment. Besides, of course he would be a good older brother. He would be the best, hands down, no doubt about it. Even if his passenger in the backseat would disagree.

His mind was wandering dangerously, simply because it was so quiet. It had to be because it was quiet, so Ambrose turned up the radio louder, but the song that was playing just ended. Instead a news reporter started speaking urgently.

Ambrose shook his head, tapping his fingers on the wheel when the light turned green just beside Hero plaza: well, Mentor’s memorial garden, more specifically.

“Stay out of the city tonight, there is a rogue Villain, perhaps Supervi—”

Ambrose didn’t get to hear the rest of the news report. When the light turned green he was already moving past the intersection, heading straight, driving through the Hero Plaza in the centre of the city.

His eyes were fixed forward so he didn’t see the hailstorm of debris from a shattered building coming from the right. He didn’t see the Supervillain levitating where Mentor’s statue should have been.

Ambrose didn’t see what was happening to his right. More like he heard it. A sudden onslaught of panicked thoughts that weren’t his raced through his mind and he panicked along with them.

What! They’re never this strong! Not unless— Ambrose glanced to his right and saw Villain levitating ten metres off the ground. As if meeting his gaze, the villain threw his hands forward and a hailstorm of debris went racing towards them.

Ambrose hit the gas, manoeuvring the gears quickly as he took off. The debris fell behind the Wraith, some stones clipping the tail end as he swerved a sharp corner, trying to cut off Villain’s eyesight from the car.

Of course, this was the same moment that Kit woke up. His head hit off the window of the car and he groaned, reaching his hands up to rub the bump. “Ambrose?”

Ambrose’s black eyes caught Kit’s in the rearview mirror. Something hard in them alerting Kit to the danger. “We have a problem.”

“A problem?”

Just as Ambrose was about to drive back into Villain’s sight line, debris like meteorites fell in front of them, tearing up the road ahead of the Wraith. Ambrose slammed his foot on the brakes and the pair jolted forwards in their seats.

“What’s going on?!” Kit demanded, searching the windows to try and see what the commotion was all about. Behind them Kit could see a pile up of cars, people screaming and sirens already blaring. “Ambrose!”

Ambrose’s grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, his face paler than usual as his chest heaved up and down. “There’s a Villain by Mentor’s memorial garden.”

“What?! Let me out!”

Ambrose didn’t reply. Kit went to unhook his seatbelt but Ambrose stopped him. “Kit! It looks like they have telekinesis,” Ambrose said through clenched teeth.

It felt as if the debris fell on Kit’s chest, crushing it from the inside out. A disbelieving what? fell from his lips. His vision seemed to narrow to a pinpoint, his lungs slowing his breaths. His voice raised a little hysterically: “what do you mean they have telekinesis?”

“It’s just what I saw.”

“Well you saw wrong!” Kit argued, his eyes wide and desperate. “The chances of another telekinetic—”

“I know—”

“Do you hear what you’re saying?! There’s no way—”

“I KNOW!” Ambrose barked. His own emotions thrown through a loop at the information.

A long, choking silence passed between them, though they were both thinking the same thing: that Villain can’t be Mentor.

~*~*~*~

Four blocks away a new Supervillain was making their mark in front of the Hero plaza. He was levitating off the ground, bits of debris from Mentor’s memorial statue circling around him like moons of Saturn.

Superhero tried not to think about how much this Supervillain reminded him of Mentor. He really tried not to think about it, but he couldn’t stop himself. The likeness was uncanny, and it was rare for two people with the same abilities to emerge in the same city. It happened but it was rare.

Telekinesis. And not just that, a mastery of his ability, how effortless the destruction seemed to him. An unwillingness to yield.

This must be Supervillain, and if it was Superhero was hesitant to engage. Which sounded terrible as the leader of the Heroes but, even leader’s get scared.

Supervillain was fighting four seasoned Heroes and Superhero all at once — not to mention Tides who was the only new recruit there — without breaking a sweat. Superhero had tried to call Kit, but no luck. Supervillain’s face was covered by a mask and he wore civilian clothes, as if this was a casual affair for him. Like he just walked off the streets and decided, why not cause some chaos? Sirens and emergency services rushed to the scene of people in need, people who had been hit by the debris.

Thankfully, it looked to be a small amount of casualties due to how late it was, but still. Something was wrong with the scene, and Superhero needed to find out what. If that Supervillain… was actually Mentor or not.

And if so, how? How was he here? Why had he escaped and turned out like this? What was going on?! A Supervillain? Threatening the city? That wasn’t Mentor’s way… unless this was Omen’s plan all along, to destroy the legacy of a great man. To make the great man a monster and destroy it himself.

Supervillain inclined his head at Superhero, raising his hand palm up and flexing his fingers goading Superhero into a fight. Superhero lunged for him, bouncing from one building towards Supervillain. When he was in mid-air, Supervillain made a wide sweeping gesture with his arm and a hurricane of rocks and concrete hurtled towards Superhero.

He dodged between the initial wave, but he didn’t expect the second. Mentor’s stone arm caught him around the waist and the pair went flying into a building.

While Superhero was distracted, Supervillain turned his attention to Tides. He aimed for the water under her feet keeping her in the air, wiping it away with a sweep of his arm. Tides cried out as she started to fall, but Supervillain caught her, keeping her suspended in mid-air.

Superhero recovered quickly, and went soaring again, taking the wind in his wings with a grin. It felt so good to let them out again. His eyes zeroed in on Supervillain, hoping he would realise Superhero was behind him too late and they could all go home and sleep in their beds tonight.

At the last second, right before Superhero made contact with Supervillain, Supervillain turned their head to Superhero. Superhero’s eyes widened but it was too late, they had committed to the movement, already in mid air. With a sweep of his hand, Supervillain sent Superhero back two blocks, tumbling onto a rooftop. His wings wrapped around him cushioning his fall as he rolled.

Supervillain turned back to Tides who was struggling in his hold and shot towards her. He grabbed her by the neck, and threw her down onto a roof behind her. Tides almost passed out from the impact, her entire body arching as breath was stolen from her lungs. Her body bounced off the concrete, like she was a rag-doll being thrown before rolling to a stop, gasping in air. Supervillain followed her with easy steps, before kicking her onto her back and standing above her. He pressed his foot down on her chest.

“Where’s Malyn?” Supervillain asked, tilting his head. Tides cried out as Supervillain’s foot gathered telekinesis behind it and forced her down into the concrete, cracking the roof around her. A small crater Tides shaped now etched on the rooftop.

“I won’t tell you,” Tides said through gritted teeth. The pressure increased and Tides screamed, her hands flying to Supervillain’s ankle and clawing at it, trying to get it to budge. Supervillain put his hands in his trouser pockets, as if this were a casual conversation, like he wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Tell me or I’ll break every bone in your body, Tides.”

Tides abandoned trying to dislodge Supervillain’s foot, and instead gathered a canon of water behind him. She splayed her fingers and the canon blasted towards Supervillain before losing momentum as Tides let out a blood-curling scream.

Her wrist snapped like a twig, leaving her arm useless as she tried to summon water. The pain was blinding, but Supervillain didn’t let up for a second, moving his foot idly from her chest to her broken wrist.

“Where,” Supervillain asked again, leaning forward so more of his weight pressed on Tides’ wrist. “Is Malyn?”

“I don’t know,” Tides cried out, her mind going blank as the pain burned through her, tears blinding her. “I don’t know! I don’t!”

“Hmm,” Supervillain hummed above her. “I don’t believe you.”

Tides screwed her eyes shut and looked away, not wanting to see the final blow coming. She wasn’t masochistic enough for that, quite happy to live in blissful ignorance.

Then the pressure was suddenly off her with a thump of body meeting body and Tides' eyes flew open. Supervillain was gone, and Tides took to sobbing. She glanced at her mangled wrist and felt bile climbing her throat. Every breath was an effort as she tried to sit up and failed, opting to just lay on the roof, motionless and cry.

Superhero shot like a bullet, barreling into the new Supervillain and flying away from the city to the local park instead where there would be far less casualties. Superhero threw Villain down to the ground with a terrifying force and floated down after him.

~*~*~*~

Ambrose kicked the car into reverse just as Kit saw two figures flying over the night sky. “Ambrose! We have to go after them! That’s Superhero!”

Ambrose hooked his arm over the passenger seat, turning to look back out the window as they reversed.

“Do I look like I care?” Ambrose asked, meeting Kit’s glare. “Genuine question, Mallory. Do I look like I give a shit what happens to the number one fuck up in the city? Cause if I do, I need to fix that.”

“This isn’t some joke! Stop the car. Let me out! Let me go, Ambrose.”

“No.”

“That could be Mentor!” Kit yelled after Ambrose turned front again and manoeuvred around the debris in the road. Kit huffed out a breath through his nose reaching for his seatbelt.

“Don’t touch your seatbelt if you know what’s good for you, Kit, I swear to God. I will knock you out again.”

Desperation rose in Kit’s stomach as Ambrose took a backstreet shortcut to get out of the city. Kit could only watch as they passed the park. Superhero was hovering over the trees, throwing a body down into the grass when Ambrose sped past.

~*~*~*~

Supervillain rolled until he gained ground beneath his fingertips and got to his feet two metres away from Superhero.

“Who are you?!” Superhero demanded, voice livid.

Supervillain tilted his head but said nothing. Superhero’s lip curled back into a snarl and he shot off again, leaving a small crater where his feet were. Flying wasn’t exactly a great superpower, but it was what Superhero had and he learned to use it to his advantage in fights.

He flew at Supervillain, drawing his fist back with a roar and aimed for Supervillain’s cheek. Supervillain lifted his forearm, diverting the blow. He punched Superhero in the gut, a jab, then an uppercut. Superhero dodged back, pushing off his heels as his hands outstretched going for Supervillain’s porcelain mask.

Supervillain ducked, swiping Superhero’s legs out from under him. Superhero dropped, his back barely hitting the ground before he launched himself towards Supervillain.

Supervillain moved with speed and grace, as if he’d been fighting all his life, and he didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat. Superhero, on the other hand, was tiring quickly, not used to the amount of power and focus he was using to try and land a hit on Supervillain.

Supervillain went to sweep his arm. Superhero caught it with a death grip, grinned and spun. Planting his left foot in the ground he pivoted and threw Supervillain as far as he could. Supervillain went flying backwards, getting caught in the leaves of a tree. The branches split and broke around him, a tear in the earth opening from where Supervillain had split the tree open to let himself down.

He wiped the leaves off his shoulders and Superhero grinned. Maybe he can be beaten. Superhero launched himself at Supervillain again, not giving him a chance to recover.

“Enough playtime.” Supervillain said.

Supervillain lifted a hand lazily and Superhero froze in mid-air, the air turned against him, freezing him in place. Superhero’s eyes widened. That’s not possible. There’s no way that he’s… that that’s Mentor, there’s…

Villain walked slowly towards Superhero, taking his sweet time about it. He stopped in front of Superhero, mask to face. “Don’t you recognise me, Superhero?”

Superhero flinched at the voice. It was disguised, which… no, there’s no way that was Mentor. Mentor was always transparent and never wore a mask. He wouldn’t.

But then again… that’s when Mentor was a hero, a symbol of peace and justice in the city.

Villain reached out and grabbed a fistful of Superhero’s hair, yanking his head back. Superhero grit his teeth but didn’t cry out. “Where’s Malyn?”

Superhero’s shock must have shown on his face. “What?”

Villain yanked their neck back farther and Superhero couldn’t contain the groan from the strain. “Malyn. I want him. Now. Where. Is. He?”

Superhero frowned. Surely Mentor would know where Kit lived? But then… no, he wouldn’t. Kit moved after Omen drove Mentor crazy.

“You won’t find him.” Superhero said, huffing a breath out through their nose. Supervillain hummed. He stepped back and clicked his fingers. Superhero’s body moved at an impossible speed, back snapping against the bark of a tree and Superhero cried out.

Supervillain didn’t stop. He was dragged back along the dirt by his ankle, as if being pulled by an invisible lasso. He blacked out from the blow, but his brain shot him back into consciousness as his back was dragged harshly over the terrain. Supervillain came into view again. Superhero’s body was forced up as if suspended from the air, hanging like a limp puppet.

“Malyn, Superhero. I don’t have the patience for this game of cat and mouse.”

“Why… why are you—” Superhero’s breath hitched as his body contorted against his will. “D-doing this?”

“I want the boy. If you don’t bring him to me in three days, I will destroy the rest of the city, and all of your pathetic heroes.”

Supervillain closed their hand into a fist and Superhero screamed. “Have him meet me at the Hero Academy, 10pm. Alone. Any funny business and I’ll make sure that Tides dies, do you understand?”

“T— Leave Tides alone! Take- take me!”

“Oh, I would,” Supervillain said, opening his fist again. Superhero fell to the ground, his head slapping off the dirt. Supervillain crouched down in front of him and with a gloved hand tilted Superhero’s chin up. “But you have the best chance of getting me what I want. The boy for Tides. Hero Academy. Three days. 10 O’clock, got it?”

Superhero let out a broken breath of air which Supervillain took to mean yes. Villain slapped Superhero’s cheek. “Good boy. At least you still know how to take orders.”

Villain disappeared after that, leaving Superhero shaking in the dirt.

~*~*~*~

Ambrose didn’t even bother to make Kit forget the way to his house. If he was honest, he was exhausted. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. They pulled up to Ambrose’s house, stopping in front of two giant gates. Ambrose pressed a button and the gates opened.

“What are you, Batman?” Kit asked as he took in the mansion they were driving into. Ambrose chuckled at the comment but didn’t reply. The gates closed behind them as they drove in. The driveway was long, like something out of a movie and had a fucking roundabout at the entrance to the house.

Ambrose opened the door and stepped out. He walked around to the passenger side and opened Kit’s door, pulling the seat forward. “You can get out now, child.”

“I’m not a child,” Kit grumbled, obeying the order.

“Yes, you are,” said Ambrose with a sigh. He slammed the door after Kit got out, locking the doors over his shoulder with a click of his keys and a flash of lights. “You don’t do anything without being told, and you push boundaries like a fucking toddler.”

“Yeah, your stupid enforced boundaries because you’re a fucking control freak, and everything has to go Ambrose’s way! Right?!”

Ambrose ignored him, unlocking the door to his house and holding it open from Kit to follow. Kit scoffed and walked inside.

“You know this whole silent brooding thing is really starting to piss me off!” Kit told him.

Ambrose shut the door and locked it. “Your irritation is duly noted. I’ll file it under I don’t give a fuck.”

Kit whirled on Ambrose again, about to tear him a new one but paused. Ambrose stood pinching the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, laboured sigh. Kit bit back his gripes.

“Tell you what,” Ambrose said eventually. His voice soft and so un-Ambrose like. Tired, Kit realised. It was as if all energy had been zapped from him after the drive, and maybe it was. Adrenaline had a habit of doing that to you. Ambrose took the key for the cuffs out of his pocket and tossed it. “You can sleep on all of the names you want to call me, and tell me over breakfast tomorrow.”

Kit caught the key, eyes wide with surprise as he unlocked the cuffs around his wrist. He glanced up at Ambrose, but Ambrose was already making for the stairs with tired movements. He lifted a hand without turning back to face Kit.

“Take whatever room you want. I honestly couldn’t care less.”

Kit stood shocked as he watched the villain ascend the staircase straight from the titanic to the second floor. Disbelief ebbed to his own wave of sleep that overtook him and he followed Ambrose up the stairs. He could think more tomorrow. Sleep would bring clarity. He could think logically in the morning.

Kit took the door closest to him and kicked off his shoes. He pulled his jacket off, unzipping his jeans, stepping out of them as he fell into— fuck this was probably the most comfortable bed he ever lay on.

That was his last thought before the blackness swallowed him, eyelids falling heavy over his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @stefaniesblogs @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump

[starlightiing]

|| Car Crash Hearts || Pierresteban || 1/2 ||

Title: Car Crash Hearts (AO3)

Rating: M

Warnings: Car accident, hospitals, angst, whump (mental and physical), ect ect.

Graphic credit: @watercolor-hearts <3

Pairing: Pierre Gasly & Esteban Ocon. (Side Esteban/Male OC and Charles Leclerc/Male OC).

“Pierre - what? Why are you calling me? I do not have anything to do with him.” “You were listed as his only emergency contact, sir. If you would please -” “No,” Esteban interjects, waving his hands about as if she can actually see him, “No, no. There’s a mistake here or something. I can give you a different number to call, but I do not have anything to do with him.” Or: Tragedy strikes for Pierre one week ahead of the Austin GP. Esteban is left with no choice but to pick up the pieces in the aftermath.

When Esteban’s eyes flutter open, the room is dark. The curtains are pulled tightly across the hotel room window, but even through the cracks and creases in the fabric, Esteban can tell it's just as dark outside as it is inside the room. This means it is nowhere near morning yet, and the option to roll back over onto his side and sneak in a few more hours of sleep is tantalizing to his groggy brain. 

To his left, Esteban can hear Gabriel’s gentle breathing, slow and steady, and can reasonably conclude that he is still tossed far into the wiles of slumber as well. Sucking in a breath, Esteban rolls himself over onto his left side and drapes an arm delicately across Gabriel’s hips as to not disturb his peaceful sleep. His eyes fall shut once more, and the rhythm of Gabriel’s breathing up against the weary pull of sleep work together to push him further and further into a state of unconsciousness himself.

That is, of course, until the harsh and frantic ‘buzz’ of Esteban’s cellphone cuts through the otherwise serene silence.

In his half-aware state, Esteban cracks only one eye open slightly, as if it would somehow sharpen his senses to the noise coming from his bedside table. He doesn’t know exactly what time it is - just how early or how late into the night or morning it could possibly be, but phone calls between this window are rare and, dare he suggest it, aggravating. He groans slightly, picking his head up from the pillow and pulling his arm back from around Gabriel’s waist. The soft motions come with a sharp intake of breath from Gabriel, who almost immediately pops open both eyes and furrows his brows in tired confusion.

“Babe, your phone.” Gabriel says, his voice gravelly and low. “Who the fuck is calling at…” a soft glow of light comes from Esteban’s left, where he notices Gabriel has turned on his own phone. “Two in the morning?”

“Fuck if I know. Hold on.” Esteban hoists himself up to a sitting position in the bed, running a hand over his face to try and wake himself up a bit more. He reaches over and swipes his phone from the table, eyes snapping immediately to the caller information. To his confusion, the number isn’t one that is registered in his contacts. The area information reads ‘Austin, TX’ with an American phone number printed beneath, but no further insight into who this mystery caller is. Now that his curiosity has reached an all time high (and perhaps a bit of nervous dread is mixed in as well), Esteban accepts the phone call and presses the speaker button so Gabriel can listen in as well. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this a mister Esteban Ocon?” greets a disinterested voice from the other end of the line. Esteban can hear quite a commotion in the background behind her, and something inside his stomach begins to churn.

“Yes, who is this?”

“I’m calling from Saint David’s North Austin Medical Center in regards to Pierre Gasly.” 

Esteban’s eyes widen in disbelief. He steals a glance over at Gabriel, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and even a hint of anger, only to find a very similar expression painted across his face as well. 

“Pierre - what? Why are you calling me? I do not have anything to do with him.”

“You were listed as his only emergency contact, sir. If you would please -”

“No,” Esteban interjects, waving his hands about as if she can actually see him, “No, no. There’s a mistake here or something. I can give you a different number to call, but I do not have anything to do with him.”

“Sir-” the woman sounds annoyed now, a bit louder and more insistent, “There was an accident, and we are required to make phone calls to all listed emergency contacts. I cannot call a random phone number you give me due to American HIPAA laws in place to protect Pierre’s privacy. Are you able to come up to the hospital with proof of identity within the next few hours?” 

“I -” at a loss for words, Esteban locks his gaze with Gabriel, who is beginning to look less irritated and more concerned with every passing second. “What did you say was the name of this hospital again?”

“Saint David’s North Austin Medical Center.” 

“I’m looking it up.” Gabriel says softly, pulling his phone back out and tapping aggressively at the screen. Flashes of color illuminate the room as Gabriel switches from google to google maps, and Esteban leans over to get a glimpse of their position in regards to the hospital. “It’s only fifteen minutes. We can go.” “Uh, yes, yes, I can come. Can you just - is he…is he alive?” Esteban’s voice comes out small and meek, almost like a scolded child who has just served a most unjust time-out. His stomach is flopping about even more viciously now, and all of the anger that had boiled his blood only minutes ago is dissipating into anxious energy. Pierre is not his friend, but that does not mean Esteban wants anything bad to happen to him.

“I cannot divulge any further information over the phone, Mr. Ocon. Once you get here and prove your identity, we’ll be able to give you a much more detailed overview of the situation. We’ll see you soon.”

The ‘click’ of the other line disconnecting and the immediate three-beep ‘dropped call’ tone sounds in Esteban’s ears before he can even finish processing the woman’s words. His phone dims now that it’s no longer in use, and it slides from his knee as Gabriel shifts the mattress to stand to his feet. Esteban, still in shock, looks up at Gabriel and blindly follows his motions by lifting himself off of the bed as well. He is going to need his keys, his phone, his wallet, his passport, what little bit of American cash he has on him, and -

“Hey, Este, it’s okay.” comes Gabriel’s voice, now closer to him than Esteban remembers them being moments ago. A warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he sucks in a deep breath to try and regain his bearings. “It sounds like protocol to me from the hospital. I am sure Pierre is okay, and you can add this to the list of shit he owes you for, right?”

“Right.” Esteban’s voice is tense, but he does find the strength to offer the barest smile at Gabriel’s efforts to calm his racing thoughts. “That asshole.”

“That asshole, yes. Now get dressed and hand me your keys, you are not driving right now.”

It is a welcome relief that comes with Gabriel’s words. Driving, of course, is more than second nature - almost as involuntary as breathing to someone like Esteban - even when stress and conflict and feelings are built up into a tight ball in his chest the way they are now. But to have the privilege of handing that responsibility off, well, he would take that in a heartbeat. And so he does.

“Here,” he says, grabbing the keys from his side table and tossing them over into Gabriel’s expectant hands, “Go on ahead. I will meet you outside so I can just jump in the car and we can go. Get the GPS ready and all that.”

“Yes, boss.” Gabriel shots back with a mock American salute, earning a half-hearted chuckle from Esteban in the process. He is out the door within seconds and as soon as Esteban hears the click of the strike, he lets out a massive breath that feels far too heavy in his lungs.

Surely, he thinks, Pierre will be fine. It was probably a stupid, drunken stint at a fancy club down the road from their hotel that may have landed him a broken nose or a harmless concussion. Surely, in two hours time Esteban will be curling back into bed with Gabriel to catch up on the precious sleep they missed while being Pierre’s babysitters. Pierre has been looking particularly forward to the American Grand Prix, as Esteban had overheard in the garage after their last race, so it would only make sense if he had gone out and partied with Yuki and some of the other drivers that had flown in a week early as well.

At least that is what he is going to tell himself for now, as he shrugs into an Alpine t-shirt he had discarded on the floor earlier that night, aptly strewn beside a pair of dark jeans that will suit this spontaneous hospital trip just fine. Once he finishes dressing, he grabs his passport from his bedside table along with his wallet and one of his watches, and then his phone from the middle of the bed where it has slid off of his knee a few minutes prior. 

‘Coming downstairs now. Have the car ready by check in.’ Esteban types sloppily on his phone, not caring to check for any errors as he hastily sends the message to Gabriel and all but jogs down three flights of stairs and out to the lobby, where if he garners a strange look or two from the late night desk clerks, he pays absolutely no mind.

As expected, Gabriel already has the car pulled around under the awning of the hotel check-in lane when Esteban bursts through the doors and into the night. Humidity hits him like a brick wall as soon as he steps outside, the air feeling heavy in his lungs as he rushes forward towards the passenger door.

“I have to make a phone call to Charles, do you have everything you need on your phone to get us there?” Esteban asks, slamming the passenger door shut behind him. Gabriel hits the gas hard enough for Esteban to jolt forward, but he pays it barely any mind as he quickly squirms himself into his seat belt and pulls up his contact list on his phone.

“Don’t worry about anything, Esteban, do what you need to do.” Gabriel replies firmly, his voice tender and full of a kindness that works to help ease the nerves Esteban feels swirling around in his chest. 

He tells himself, yet again, that Pierre is fine. He probably just hurt himself doing something stupid while he was drunk, and as soon as they get there, they can load him up into the car and take him back to the hotel without much of a fuss. Nonetheless, he can’t manage to shake this feeling of dread clawing its way up the back of his spine and into his chest. He swallows thickly, swiping his finger down his screen until he finds the contact name he was looking for. He taps Charles Leclerc’s name with a trembling finger, and then brings the phone up to his ear.

It takes Charles nearly four rings to answer, though Esteban can not blame him given how early in the morning it is. In fact, he is surprised Charles even answers at all.

“Someone had better be dying.” Comes Charles’ groggy voice on the other end of the line. And oh, the irony of his statement - if he only knew. Esteban heaves an unsteady breath into his lungs to clear those thoughts out of his mind; Pierre will be fine, no one is dying. But the rate of his own heartbeat and the tension in his chest would say otherwise - and Charles’ offhand greeting does not do Esteban’s anxiety any favors.

“Good morning to you too, Charles.” Esteban shoots back, working to keep his tone any semblance of ‘normal’ as to not worry Charles unnecessarily. “Hopefully no one is dying, but I got a phone call regarding Pierre.”

The other line is silent for a moment too long, long enough for Esteban to wonder if perhaps Charles has fallen back asleep. He finally hears distant shuffling in the background, followed by a very sleepy groan.

“What about Pierre?”

“The hospital nearby gave me a call. Apparently I am still his emergency contact.” Esteban informs him tensely, drowning out the sound of Gabriel’s GPS as the shrill voice spits out instructions towards the hospital. “I don’t know the details, they will not tell me this over the phone. I am heading there now to find out what happened. I thought maybe it would be good that you knew, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Charles asks, and his voice sounds much clearer and steady now. “Did they say it was bad?”

“They told me nothing at all, Charles. It’s some sort of American law or something, I don’t really know. You are staying at the same hotel as Pierre, no?” Esteban’s words are a bit frantic, perhaps even laced with an involuntary bite of annoyance. Already, the conversation has dragged on for longer than he wanted. The car can only move so quickly and yet it feels too slow, as well. Esteban is pitched forward in his seat, almost like he’s ready to jump out at any given moment. If he could just focus his attention -

“Yes,” Charles answers curtly, and his anxiety is almost palpable through the phone. Esteban would commiserate with Charles right now, if only he had the space in his chest for it. “Tell me the hospital he is at and I will be there as quickly as I can.” “How about I text it to you? I will send you the directions and everything.”

“That’s fine. Let me know as soon as you hear anything about Pierre.”

“I will,” Esteban replies, feeling more anticipation and anxiety build in his chest as Gabriel finally turns the car into the parking lot for the hospital. “We are here, so I should know something soon. I will call you in a few moments.”

“Good, thank you.” 

The call drops almost immediately, so Esteban lowers the phone from his ear and works on unfastening his seat belt so he can be out of the car as soon as Gabriel parks it. The hospital is far larger than any of the medical centers he is used to seeing - even the parking deck goes up more levels than he can comprehend. Thankfully, at this time of night, the normal visitor parking out in front of the hospital has some empty space, so Esteban watches as Gabriel pulls the car into the closest spot he can find.

“Go, go go, I will catch up.” Gabriel says, urging Esteban out the door as soon as the tires come screeching to a halt. Esteban nods, offering a grateful pat to Gabriel’s shoulder before opening the door and darting out into the humid night. He loops around the back of the car, breaking out into a light jog as he makes his way towards the entrance of the hospital.

Around him, it is surprisingly peaceful. There are lights in the parking lot that keep the area well-lit, and he can see a few nurses and other hospital staff huddled around a bench for a ten-minute smoke break off in the distance. Otherwise, the night is eerily still and quiet in a way that Esteban did not realize America could be.

It feels like it does not bode well.

As he approaches the entrance to the hospital, the automatic doors part with a quiet hum and he doesn’t even need to slow his pace. He continues his jog right up to the front desk, where an employee is typing furiously on her computer. She hardly looks up when he approaches.

“Can I help you?” she asks, eyes still fastened on her computer screen. Esteban clears his throat to try and keep his voice level and even, before reaching into his pocket to pull out his passport.

“Yes, my name is Esteban Ocon. I was called by someone from this hospital maybe twenty or thirty minutes ago because I am an emergency contact for Pierre Gasly. I was told to come with proof of my identity so I could get an update on his condition.” Esteban explains carefully, opening his passport up and pushing it forward on the desk. 

She finally looks away from her screen and gently takes his passport, reading the information and studying his photo before looking back up and making eye contact with him. “Thank you, Mr. Ocon. Give me just a moment to pull up his information. You said his name was what?”

“Pierre Gasly.” He says, feeling anticipation rise up into his throat now that he’s so close to knowing what’s going on. His heart is thumping quickly in his chest, and he shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from trembling. It's funny, really, just how nervous he is - he keeps trying to tell himself that it is nothing major, that Pierre just did something stupid during a drunken night of fun with his friends. But Esteban can feel something tense in the air - he can feel the dread churching his stomach and even though he hopes he’s wrong, he fears this may be worse than even he can imagine.

“Pierre Gasly, yes, it seems he’s currently in the ICU with very limited visitation. I will page his doctor to come talk to you about his condition, and then you can be taken to see him.” the receptionist informs him, her voice calm and even, as if she hadn’t just told Esteban that the person he’s here to see is in the intensive care unit. As if that isn’t one of the most devastating things you could tell someone.

Esteban’s breath halts in his lungs, and a cold feeling washes over him that starts at his temples and drags all the way down to the tips of his toes. The ICU - the most critical place Pierre could possibly be. His heart feels strained as it beats even faster, and if he had not been leaning against the front desk so heavily, he might have stumbled over in shock.

“I - thank you. Thank you.” He sputters, taking one of his hands out of his pocket to grab his passport back from the woman. Her eyes finally flash a hint of sympathy as she looks him over. He must look just as terrified as he feels. “Can I - is there a place to sit?”

“Of course, go down to the right a bit and there’s a waiting area. I’ll call you up when the doctor arrives, okay? It shouldn’t take too long.”

Esteban nods, stuffing his passport back into his pocket and pulling in a shaky breath. At that moment, he sees a flash of movement to his left, and Gabriel is at his side in an instant.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing onto Esteban’s shoulders. “You are shaking. What happened?”

Esteban leans back into Gabriel with perhaps a bit too much of his bodyweight, swallowing a mouthful of emotions back as he stumbles to take a step forward. He feels Gabriel’s grip on his shoulders tighten, holding him firmly to keep him from swaying.

“Pierre is in the intensive care unit.” Esteban chokes out, the tightness in his chest only growing as the reality of the situation bears down on him. His mind can only race with possibilities now of what could have happened to Pierre - especially so early in the morning, with no one else around. Did someone hurt him? Had he been in an accident? 

“Oh my god. What happened to him?” Gabriel asks, gently leading Esteban down the short hallway towards the waiting area. “Did they tell you?”

Slowly, Esteban finds himself maneuvered into a chair. He stretches his legs out and turns onto his side, the side where Gabriel sits next to him, and reaches for his hand. Gabriel is more than happy to offer his hand in response, giving Esteban’s a little squeeze of support. 

“They did not say yet. I have to wait for the doctor to come down and talk with me. But…this means it is very serious. I thought it would be something stupid, like a broken nose or maybe even a concussion or something.” Esteban squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling it out sharply. “Oh fuck, I did not text Charles.”

He worms his free hand around in the pocket opposite his passport, grabbing his phone out with little struggle. He quickly presses his thumb against the fingerprint scanner, and scrolls through a series of old conversations until he finds one with Charles from over a month ago.

His hand is shaking so badly, he nearly misses clicking on Charles’ name three times.

“Baby, do you want me to do it?” Gabriel suggests, his breath warm against the crown of Esteban’s forehead where he is resting his lips. Esteban sighs, surrendering his phone over and resting the weight of his head against Gabriel’s. 

“Do not tell Charles that Pierre is in the ICU. I do not want him driving here worried. He just needs directions to the hospital.” Esteban tells him gently. Gabriel hums in acknowledgement, and Esteban listens to the soft sound of the phone keyboard clicking as Gabriel types one-handedly.

Esteban’s anxiety is only going from bad to worse as the minutes pass, waiting for the doctor to make their way down to him. Logically, he understands this hospital is full of people who need help and families who need support, but the longer he waits to find out what happened to Pierre, the more the scenarios in his mind worsen. Intensive care could be indicative of so many different things - is Pierre unconscious and critical but breathing on his own, or is he on a breathing device as well? Is he in one piece or multiple pieces? Will he look like a shell of the man Esteban knew, or will he just look like he’s sleeping peacefully? Why didn’t Pierre pull Esteban’s name off of his emergency contact list?

He hears Gabriel’s tip-tapping on the phone stop, and he looks down at their entwined fingers. The phone screen is dark, indicating that Gabriel has already finished the message and locked the phone. Esteban does not reach out to take it back, instead closing his eyes and focusing on the rise and fall of his own chest as he breathes. It’s all he can do to keep his mind busy and away from all of the horrible scenarios running through it.

Gabriel is blessedly silent beside him, offering a gentle kiss to his temple every so often, and his thumb consistently rubs over Esteban’s knuckles in a pattern that is easy to focus on in tandem with his breathing. He has almost managed to reach a point of calm, almost victorious in bringing his heart rate down from frantic to just slightly elevated, until he hears the woman at the front desk call his name.

“Shit.” he hisses beneath his breath, and Gabriel gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “They will not let you in because you are not the emergency contact.”

“I know. Will you be alright?” Gabriel asks earnestly, and it causes something to squeeze a little too tight in Esteban’s chest. No, he’s not alright, and no he won’t be alright. At the very least, having Gabriel with him would offer some form of comfort when he needs it the most. But, there is no time to waste, and this isn’t about whether or not Esteban can handle it.

He can. He will. Just like he always does.

“Yes. Just…hope that it is not horrible news.”

Esteban untangles himself from the comfortable positioning he had managed to worm into, looking down at Gabriel with a tight-lipped and uncomfortable smile. Gabriel’s eyes are soft and sad, and his smile is equally as cautious. It makes Esteban’s stomach flip in the worst ways.

But he’s dawdling, and he cannot do that. Pierre could very well be dying, and –

He pushes those thoughts aside and makes his way back up to the front desk, feeling the trembling in his limbs returning. As he reaches the reception area, he sees the same woman from before, conversing with a tall, dark-haired doctor in a stereotypical white coat at her side. Her hair is tied up in a bun and she’s wearing thick-rimmed glasses. Her features are soft and gentle, but there is an obvious tension in the crinkle of her brow and the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, either.

“Mr. Ocon, this is Doctor Maynor. She will give you an update on Pierre’s condition and take you to see him, okay?” The receptionist says, and her tone is noticeably more carefully chosen than it had been when Esteban first walked into the hospital. None of this is easing his anxiety in the slightest. It is clear that everyone is walking on eggshells, and walking on eggshells means that they have bad news to deliver. Esteban can only hope that Doctor Maynor is blunt, concise, and rips the band-aid off so his poor heart can just take all the damage in one swoop.

“Thank you.” He says, looking over to the doctor and politely holding out a hand for her to shake. She does so, and her hand is warm as she grips his firmly. He hopes she cannot feel him trembling.

“Good morning, Mr. Ocon. Let me take you somewhere a little more private, okay? We can talk outside of his room.” Doctor Maynor suggests, motioning down the hallway towards a set of double doors that Esteban assumes lead into the ICU. He swallows thickly.

“Yes, of course. My partner is here with me, I know he cannot hear anything about Pierre’s condition, but can he come with me to the ICU?” He asks, almost fearing what the answer might be to such a question. The receptionist earlier had mentioned ‘limited visitation’ and that alone might be enough for them to keep Gabriel from him.

However, her polite smile never falters, and she offers a nod. “Of course. I can’t allow both of you into Pierre’s room at the same time, but there is a separate waiting area for the ICU that he can be situated in.”

Esteban’s sigh of relief must be palpable, as Doctor Maynor’s smile twitches towards something more genuine. Esteban jogs ahead of her towards the waiting area where Gabriel is still sitting, and he whistles softly to get his attention. Gabriel’s head snaps up instantaneously, and Esteban urges him over with a frantic hand gesture. “Come, we are going to the ICU.”

Esteban watches as Gabriel fumbles to collect his belongings. It’s clear he must have thought he would be there for some time, as he was lounging with his feet up and both his phone and a book open to his side. He grabs everything and shuffles to his feet, meeting up with Esteban at the same moment Doctor Maynor joins them as well.

“Good morning. Mr. Ocon has requested you to be with him in the ICU. I’ll show you where the waiting area is, and I’ll have a chat with Mr. Ocon in private about your friend’s condition.”

Esteban barely contains a snort at the word ‘friend.’ Perhaps one time in the past, they were friends. Perhaps one time in the past, they were even more than that. Perhaps something went wrong somewhere down the line, and their hearts lost touch. Perhaps from that moment, they never saw each other in a positive light again. ‘Friend’ - the way that makes Esteban’s heart ache so painfully in his chest. They are not friends. He doesn’t even know what they are anymore, really. Maybe just teammates, and nothing more.

Nonetheless, Esteban nods towards Gabriel, who responds with a very polite, “Yes ma’am.” 

As they approach the double doors of the intensive care unit, Doctor Maynor tugs on a badge clipped loosely to her coat and holds it against the sensor. The doors spring to life, opening slowly to allow them inside, and Esteban forces himself to take a deep breath as he crosses the threshold into his new and frightening territory. The ward is alive with the sounds of beeping monitors, nurse chatter, the clicking of keyboards as they’re furiously typed upon, and the sound of wheels against linoleum flooring where monitors and other sensitive equipment are being carted around by the medical staff. Each door is spread quite far apart from the other, all numbered in ascending order, with even numbers on the left and odd ones on the right.

Doctor Maynor comes to a halt right at the end of the hallway, where Esteban can see a small carpeted area full of couches and chairs. It’s all very similar to the waiting room outside of the emergency ward, and he knows this is where he loses Gabriel.

This is where he knows things may never be quite the same ever again.

“Here’s the waiting area. Pierre’s room is not too far from here.” Doctor Maynor says, using her arm to gesture towards the empty chairs in the room. Gabriel sucks in a breath and Esteban immediately turns to face him, feeling that same awful, ice-cold dread fill him from head to toe once again. 

“I will be right here, Esteban. It’s going to be okay.” Gabriel tells him, leaning in close to bump their foreheads together. Esteban nods, not trusting the way his voice might sound if he dares to speak. “It’s okay, baby.” 

Gabriel presses a feather-soft kiss to the bridge of Esteban’s nose, and then he steps back to head into the waiting room. Esteban’s hand twitches at his side, a longing feeling at the tips of his fingers to reach out and grab hold of Gabriel, to stop him from leaving, but that would only prolong the inevitable. Something Esteban has already been doing too much of.

“Are you ready, Mr. Ocon?” Doctor Maynor asks softly, and Esteban can appreciate that her voice is full of sympathy and warmth. It’s in stark contrast to the woman at the front desk who, (through no fault of her own, really, Esteban knows this is her job after all), had been less than gentle giving her side of the news. 

“Yes,” he replies after a moment, his chest clenching in on itself with the desperate anxiety he feels buzzing in his veins. “I’m ready.”

As she begins to walk off towards Pierre’s room, Esteban is hot on her heels. Even amongst the dread and the nausea and the raw fear he’s fighting off, deep down he wants nothing more than to just know already. And the faster they get to Pierre’s room, the faster he gets that information.

Doctor Maynor stops so abruptly in front of room 158 that Esteban nearly trips over her in the process. His head snaps over towards the door, where Pierre’s name is written neatly up on the board hanging beside the window. The curtains are shut tight, however, and to his dismay (or perhaps to his benefit), nothing can be seen inside the room other than the faint glow of the light peeking out through the corners of the fabric.

“Okay, have they told you anything about what’s happened to Mr. Gasly yet?” She begins, pulling her tablet out from her pocket. Esteban assumes that is where all of Pierre’s data is being kept, an entire record of what’s happened to him since he set foot inside of this hospital. He has to fight the urges to just reach forward and grab it from her hands, and read all the data himself.

“Not at all. I did not even know he was in the ICU until ten minutes ago.”

Doctor Maynor frowns, sliding her finger across the tablet as she scrolls through pages of data. Esteban watches her intently, his heart pounding so fast he can hear it clearly in his ears.

“Mr. Gasly was in a horrible car accident. He was brought in about an hour ago in critical condition. His injuries are extensive and range in severity, but overall, his condition is still highly critical.” She informs him, and Esteban’s stomach drops to his feet.

A car accident? Of all things?

“Okay, so what are they, then?” He urges a bit impatiently, though doctor Maynor doesn’t seem to mind all that much. She sucks in a breath and looks up from the tablet, finally meeting his gaze with a sad smile.

“His pelvis is broken, as well as his clavicle. A few of his ribs fractured as well, and one of them splintered into his lung which caused a puncture and a collapse. He had an open cranial fracture - though minor - and a brain contusion to go along with it. On top of this, he has whiplash, and we are monitoring his neck for any swelling. His right leg is also broken in two spots, but the worst of the injuries is the internal bleeding. It seems on his ride over to the hospital, he went into cardiac arrest once.”

Esteban feels his legs tremble beneath him, either unable or unwilling to hold his weight. His breath is frozen in his lungs, eyes wide in absolute horror as the magnitude of Pierre’s injuries slowly, one by one, register into his brain. He can feel his heart beating in his throat, hard and heavy as if he’d just run up six flights of stairs to get here.

He’s certain the doctor must be speaking to him, but there’s a ringing in his ears that drowns out all other sounds.

Pierre’s heart had stopped in the ambulance. His heart had simply stopped beating.

Esteban thinks he may be sick.

[whump-or-whatever]

Whump Vignette #3

Contents: car accident, trapped in car, stranded in the snow, freezing temperatures, head injury, leg injury, rescue, worried caretaker

Whumpee was driving down a backroad just after 6 pm. It was winter, which meant it was already pitch black. Whumpee squinted, trying to see through the flurrying snow. The roads had been cleared at some point, but the continuing snow left a layer of dirty slush on the uneven pavement.

“How bad are the roads?” came Caretaker’s voice from the car stereo.

“Bit slushy but not too bad. Visibility is crap though.” Whumpee slowed down as they approached a gradual bend in the road.

There was the sound of Caretaker moving around on the their end of the line. “Yeah, sounds about right. Well, just be careful and take your time. Text me when you get there.”

“Will do, talk to you later.” Whumpee responded.

“Bye.” There was a beep as Caretaker hung up.

Whumpee continued driving, their eyes focused on following the tracks of whatever car had gone before them. Every so often their tire would catch on the edge of the tracks and Whumpee would let off the gas, slowing down until they re-gained traction.

All was well until, out of the white wall of snow emerged a large pickup truck. It came speeding around the corner, cutting into Whumpee’s lane.

“Fuck,” Whumpee cursed in panic. They hit the brakes and felt their anti-locks kick in, trying to gain some semblance of traction on the snow-covered road. The truck showed no signs of moving back into its lane, as if the driver didn’t even see Whumpee’s car. Wanting to avoid a head-on collision, Whumpee swerved to the right, barely missing being sideswiped by the truck.

Unfortunately, the side of their car connected with the snow bank on the side of the road. Whumpee cranked the wheel back to the left, which resulted in them spinning out whilst sliding down the road. Before Whumpee knew it, their car had crossed the road and slammed into the snow bank on the opposite side. The momentum sent them straight through it and into a deep ditch. There was an abrupt impact which threw Whumpee’s head forward into the steering wheel and everything went black.

• • •

Caretaker eyed the clock. 8:30 pm.

Whumpee had promised to text them when they arrived at their destination. Even assuming that they had gotten distracted upon arrival and forgotten to text right away, they should have been in contact by now. Caretaker was starting to get worried.

By the time the clock hit 8:45 pm, Caretaker decided enough was enough and they called Whumpee. The line rang only once before the voicemail message played. “You have reached Whumpee, please leave a message after the tone.”

Caretaker hung up and called again, to the same result.

Now seriously worried, Caretaker grabbed their keys and jacket and headed out into the frigid night.

• • •

Whumpee awoke to a pounding in their head. It took them a moment to realize that the groaning noise in their ears was coming from them. Cracking their eyes open, Whumpee couldn’t see much of anything. They raised their hand to their head and winced as they made contact with a painful gash on their forehead. It was then that they remembered, the corner, the truck, the accident.

Whumpee grabbed the door handle and tried to push the door open, but it didn’t budge. They undid their seatbelt and tried throwing their shoulder into it, but still nothing.

Whumpee started to push themself up in their seat, intending to climb over to try the other doors, only to be stopped by a bolt of pain which flared up from their right ankle and tore through their leg to their hip. They cried out and stilled, waiting for the pain to abate. Reaching down, Whumpee found that their foot had become trapped under their brake pedal, which had been crushed to the floor in the accident.

Whumpee could feel where the metal had already cut into their ankle, and they realized that their foot was extremely cold. Actually, their whole body was extremely cold, but their foot in particular was freezing and almost numb.

Whumpee’s heart rate kicked up. They felt around in the passenger seat, looking for their phone, but they couldn’t find it. Given the force of the impact, it could be anywhere. They were just glad the windshield had remained intact, so they weren’t directly covered in snow.

Finally realizing how dire their situation was, Whumpee felt a choked sob rip from their chest. They could only hope that Caretaker would come looking and find them before it was too late.

• • •

Meanwhile, Caretaker was driving carefully down the road. The snow had let up, so they could scan the ditches closely as they went. Luckily they knew the usual path Whumpee took to get to the place they had been going.

Caretaker had been driving for some time when they came across an unusual set of tire tracks. Panic rose in their chest as they pulled over and threw their hazard lights on, jumping out of the car. Caretaker followed the tracks to the edge of the road and looked down into the ditch. There was a trail of compacted snow and broken car parts leading down to a large pile of snow with just a sliver of black paint reflecting in the moonlight.

“Oh my god,” Caretaker muttered before sliding down into the ditch. They lost control of their descent at some point and ended up slamming into the hood of the vehicle. Scrambling onto their knees, they began digging the snow out from around the driver side door.

• • •

Whumpee was struggling to keep their eyes open. They were so cold they didn’t even have the energy to shiver any more. Their skin was burning with the cold.

Through the haze, whumpee heard a thump from above them. They tried to focus, but found it very difficult. Their eyes fell shut.

• • •

Caretaker managed to clear out the snow enough to look through the window. They could barely make out the shape of Whumpee inside the car. “Hey, Whumpee!” Caretaker shouted, banging on the window.

Whumpee’s eyes opened slightly, gaze listing and out of focus.

Caretaker renewed their efforts. In just a few minutes they managed to get enough snow cleared away to pry the door open.

Caretaker peeled their glove off and cupped their hand on Whumpee’s cheek. They were mortified to find them so cold. “Oh my god, Whumpee…”

Caretaker slipped their hands under Whumpee’s arms and began to pull them out of the car, but stopped short as Whumpee let out a pained whimper.

“Shit, Whumpee, you have to help me out here.” Caretaker said despairingly.

“My leg,” Whumpee whispered so quietly Caretaker almost didn’t hear them.

Caretaker jumped into action, leaning down to take stock of the situation. They found the problem quickly, seeing that Whumpee’s foot was trapped. They grabbed the brake pedal and, putting their foot against the doorframe, put all their weight into yanking it away from the floor.

Caretaker didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more concerned that Whumpee didn’t seem to feel as much pain from the action as they probably should have. In any case, Caretaker managed to bend the metal away enough that they could pull Whumpee’s foot free.

Once again hooking their arms under Whumpee’s, Caretaker managed to drag them out of the car.

“I’m going to need your help to get us back to my car. Avoid putting weight on your injured leg, I’ll support you as much as I can.” Caretaker ducked under Whumpee’s arm and the two of them started the trek up out of the ditch.

Whumpee was incredibly uncoordinated, but they tried to use their good leg to push off the ground as much as possible. Thankfully the snow had been packed down enough by the car’s descent that the two of them could plant their heels firmly to climb up. Still, it was a struggle with Caretaker essentially dragging Whumpee up a slippery slope.

Miraculously, they made it. Caretaker laid Whumpee down in the back seat of their car. After grabbing a blanket out of their trunk, Caretaker hopped in the front seat and cranked the heat. They turned around and leaned into the back seat awkwardly, wrapping the blanket around Whumpee tightly. “Hang in there, I’m gonna get you to the hospital as fast as possible.”

Whumpee nodded groggily and Caretaker turned back around, putting the car in gear. Doing a three point turn, they headed back in the direction of the nearest hospital.

• • •

Fin

[kayamark]

My demon (2023)

Ep 10

[1whump-dump1]

Emmerdale - Nicky's car accident

[whumpty-dumpty]

Skymed S01E07 (Daj Mi Buzi)

[serickswrites]

hi!! I have a request but it’s incredibly specific, I’m so sorry

can you do whumperless whump and whumpee was in an accident? They’re on the younger side and caretaker is their parent.

so the specific part is that I’d love if u added bridal carry (optional), drugged and in the hospital, fainting (optional), and fever

thank you so much! Sorry for the specificity

Hello! Thank you for stopping by with the ask!

I can definitely fill this prompt for you, but I am going to tweak it. I don't generally write about minors (you did nothing wrong by requesting this!), so I'm going to make your whumpee college age. I hope that's ok!

Warnings: car accident, fever, unconsciousness/fainting, hospital, sedation, illness

Caretaker got the call at the end of their work day. They had already been planning on making the journey down to Whumpee's apartment to take them to the ER. Whumpee had been sick with some stomach bug for days and it hadn't gotten any better, but Whumpee was too sick to drive themself to the ER and they didn't want to endanger their friends in case it was something contagious.

Which is why when Whumpee's friend and former roommate's number flashed across the screen, Caretaker got worried. Had something gotten worse? "This is Caretaker."

"This is Whumpee's parent, right?" A young voice came over the line.

"We're ok. Well I'm ok, Whumpee is ok from this."

"What happened?" Caretaker grabbed their car keys and hurried out to the parking garage. They were two hours away, an hour and a half away if they sped most of the way.

"I made a left hand turn and at unprotected light. It was my mistake."

"What happened to Whumpee?"

"They couldn't wait for you to get here to go. I've been trying to get them to let me take them to the ER for days. They're so sick, Caretaker. I didn't think it was good to wait. I'm just a really shitty driver. But they're ok. I promise."

Caretaker tried not to scream. This is not what they wanted to hear. "Is that your assessment or the EMT's?"

"Oh, theirs. They still took Whumpee because I'm going to be here a while waiting to get my car towed. But they said Whumpee wasn't hurt in the accident, but wasn't doing so well otherwise."

"Thank you," Caretaker said as they hung up the phone. They couldn't talk to Whumpee's friend any more. They needed to get to Whumpee.

Four hours later they sat with Whumpee in the middle of the silent ER. It was the middle of the night and Whumpee was so ill, but somehow the medical staff hadn't had time to assess Whumpee.

"I can go home, I don't need to--" Whumpee said weakly. Their eyes were fever bright.

"Whumpee you're running a high fever, you can't keep anything down, and you're very, very sick. You need to stay here. They're probably going to admit you once they see how sick you are."

"I don't want to stay here. I have my first paper due on Monday. I think if I just--"

"Whumpee, just relax. We will see what they say."

"I need to pee," Whumpee said quietly.

"I'll call the nurse to unhook you. Do you need me to go with you?"

Whumpee shook their head. "I'm a big kid now."

Caretaker nervously watched Whumpee stagger down the hall to the bathroom. It took everything in them not to hover. Whumpee was so ill. Caretaker wasn't sure why Whumpee hadn't been evaluated yet, but they needed to be. Caretaker stood in the doorway of Whumpee's room and watched as Whumpee stumbled and fell forward in a dead faint.

"HELP!" Caretaker cried as they ran forward and scooped Whumpee up into a bridal carry. Whumpee was burning up. "Whumpee?"

"What happened?" A doctor came running down the hall.

"They fainted, I don't know. They've been really sick."

Whumpee was quickly taken from Caretaker's arms and whisked away. Caretaker tried not to panic as they watched the medical team work. Whumpee was ok. Whumpee would be ok. Whumpee had to be ok.

Hours later, Caretaker sat beside Whumpee's hospital bed in Whumpee's new room up on the medical floor. The ER team hadn't been able to determine the cause of Whumpee's stomach bug and weren't sure how to treat it. Whumpee had woken in the ER screaming in pain and so the team thought it best to keep Whumpee under light sedation.

Still, it was hard for Caretaker to watch Whumpee sleep. They were so still and so silent. They weren't used to that. But Whumpee would be ok. They were ok. They had to be ok.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Meeting Jasper

Jasper Masterlist

Y/N drove down the highway, forest on either side of her for miles. It was pitch black out, with out even a sliver of moonlight to illuminate anything. She had her high beams on, but it didn’t help much. Suddenly, a deer jumped out into the road. Y/N swerved, slamming on the breaks. The deer leapt away to safety. Y/N breathed a sigh of relief, about to put her foot back on the gas when another, much larger car slammed into her from the other lane. The sound of metal-on-metal assaulted Y/N’s ears. Her car skidded, right into a tree. Y/N’s head hit the steering wheel, and she was out. The offending driver raced off, engine revving as it surpassed the speed limit.

…

Jasper made his way through the woods, looking for his dinner when he heard it. A terrible, loud scraping metallic sound. His red eyes widened, his head turning to the source of the noise. He scuttled over, seeing a car wrapped around a tree on the other side of the road. Looking both ways, Jasper quickly crept across the road. He examined the interior, seeing a girl in the driver’s seat, nearly unconscious. Jasper bit his lip, he knew his kind and humans didn’t mix well, mostly because of the latter’s fear of the former, but he couldn’t just leave her. She had a nasty cut on her head, possibly from the broken glass everywhere.

…

Y/N stirred to the feeling of being rocked gently, and the sound of footsteps moving quickly. She blinked her eyes open and looked up, trying to make something out aside from the splitting pain in her head. Upon perceiving this pain, she groaned quietly.

“Shh,” a voice soothed, “you’re alright. I know it hurts, but I’m going to help you.”

The paramedics must have found her, that would explain why there were so many footsteps- it must be a whole team. Her eyes drifted shut of their own accord.

…

When Y/N woke properly, she felt a gentle pressure on her head, and surprisingly, very little pain. She had been laid down on a soft surface, and she heard someone rummaging through something. She opened her eyes and sat up, though the action sent a wave of dizziness through her.

“Huh?” she mumbled.

Instead of an ambulance or a hospital room, she seemed to be in some kind of cave. On every wall of the cave, there were giant spider webs. Lanterns hung from some of the webs, illuminating the space with a dim glow. She looked down and noticed that she was laying in some kind of web hammock.

“HUH!?” she repeated, much more panicked this time.

“Oh, thank goodness,” a voice echoed.

Y/N whipped her head around (ouch) and saw something from her nightmares. The upper half of a human… with the lower half of a giant spider. Y/N couldn’t help what happened next… she screamed. A loud, ear-splitting shriek while she attempted to clamber out of the hammock. Unfortunately, she only managed to tangle herself up in it.

The creature held its clawed hands up in a placating gesture. It stepped over the first aid kit it had been rummaging through, and approached Y/N slowly.

“My name is Jasper,” the creature said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Y/N’s breaths came in short gasps. There were many things in this world she was prepared to deal with, but spiders- especially human-spider hybrids- were not one of them. She tried to wrangle herself out of the hammock, but her leg was quite caught up.

“Please stop, you’ll rumple your bandages and pull your stitches,” Jasper said gently.

Bandages? Y/N put a hand to her head. Those weren’t bandages- those felt like thick, stringy webs! There was more webbing on her arms and legs. She was going to be spider-dinner! Y/N continued to struggle, as Jasper inched closer and closer. Eventually, he closed the distance between them and gripped her by the shoulders. Y/N froze in fear.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t have you hurting yourself,” Jasper sighed, “hold still.”

Jasper tilted Y/N’s neck and bit right into it, depositing his venom into her system. Y/N’s breath hitched; she immediately lost feeling in her entire body. Her breaths still came in short and fast, but she couldn’t scream anymore- she couldn’t move anymore!

“There, now let me have a look at you.”

Jasper examined Y/N’s web wrappings and tutted. Red seeped through the one wrapped around her head.

“I’ll have to redo the stitches,” he sighed.

Jasper untangled the hammock and laid Y/N back inside it. He went to the first aid kit and grabbed a needle and thread, returning to her. He pulled off the webbing on Y/N’s forehead and hissed in sympathy.

“Looks pretty bad,” he said, “I do wish you hadn’t panicked.”

Jasper made short work of the cut, stitching it back up neatly, trying to be as gentle as possible. Y/N whimpered as the needle slid in and out of her skin.

“Shh, all done,” Jasper said, casting his tools aside.

Jasper considered Y/N for a moment.

“I can’t have you running off as soon as the venom wears off,” he thought aloud, “I don’t want to scare you… but…”

Jasper spewed webbing from his mouth and began to wrap Y/N snugly in webbing. By the time he was finished, only her head and neck were exposed. Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes, and she whimpered quietly. Jasper gently laid her back down in the hammock.

“Try to rest,” he said, “I’ve given you painkillers already, but I’ll have more for you in a few hours.”

…

Jasper scurried off to the front of his cave. He paced back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. He couldn’t just let the poor thing go, she was injured, probably concussed, and he didn’t need her running off to the other humans to tell them all where he lived. He glanced back inside his cave. Well, she was pretty cute… maybe he could keep her?

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