#caretaker death

[deviant-doughnut]

Augusnippets: Day Twenty-Four

Chosen Prompt: Relapse

CW: drugs, mention of car accident, grief, death of Caretaker.

Whumpee knows where the pills are. He’s known for all eight months of his sobriety, since long before Caretaker was gone. They found the pair of them in the wreckage together, four car pile up in the rain, five other people in the fray of it. They were making the return journey from a meeting, one Whumpee only went to because Caretaker escorted him, the offer both a threat and a kindness. They’d argued in the car, though, the urges turning his temper to molten ashes that day, itching under his skin, pounding in his head. He doesn’t remember what they fought over but he remembers wanting to use. He rips the bathroom cabinet from the wall and thinks maybe the amnesia was a blessing. He doesn’t want to remember it like that; Caretaker’s exhausted pleas, his own voice strained with impatience.

They’d found them both bloody and barely alive, shot through with glass and pieces of metal. They’d rushed them to the same hospital wing.

Whumpee woke to find Caretaker hadn’t. Sweet brown eyes — as light as Demerara sugar — that would simply never open again. They’d never squint into wakefulness beside him in bed, and reflect the soft sunlight of his heart.

There was a specific kind of cruelty to that, that Whumpee hit his head and woke up to find that the world had gone lightless and miserable. The sun has become a mockery now, the daylight grey and stale. The ink black nights promise to swallow him whole, but always spit him back out in the morning.

The funeral only worsened the sickness of grief. Suits and ties and crisp black dresses. Eyes darting to him in sympathy where he sat in the very back booth. Caretaker wasn’t even religious, just hadn’t given enough thought to himself to have planned his own damn funeral. His mind was always on other people; their comfort, their safety, their needs. His conservative parents had done it instead, Caretaker’s body buried in a place he’d have hated, in the consecrated grounds of an organisation that once would have hated him too — hated them both.

And how is Whumpee supposed to accept that? How exactly is he meant to go on? He’s not digging up bodies or petitioning courts. He’s not threatening to sue Caretaker’s parents. He’d caught one glimpse of his mother and found that same soft gaze glancing back at him. Brown sugar, there and then gone. He’d slipped out after that, spent the majority of the funeral sobbing into his jacket in the bathroom, the collar pulled up over his nose.

He throws the cabinet into the hull of the bathtub, flimsy wood smashing easily against granite. He doesn’t care about it now, just a stupid decoration, and not something that Caretaker had installed.

And there, in the carved out hollow in the wall behind the cabinet, sits an orange bottle with someone else’s name on it — a prescription used for money rather than health. Whumpee’s hand shakes. Caretaker used to hold it to steady him. He reaches out for the bottle, pops the cap and ignores how his heart aches. Caretaker would be frowning at him for this, would be urging him back to a meeting or chastising him for keeping a stash. Caretaker would tell him he was better than this, that this monster wouldn’t get him again.

That’s where Caretaker was wrong, thinks Whumpee, tipping four familiar pills into his palm. Maybe these urges were never a monster, not a thing with ugly mouths in the shadows. Maybe they were simply a curse in his bloodstream, always hungry for his marrow and heart. And now his heart has turned to stone, and they might as well cut their teeth on it.

Six miles away, past the road where both of them actually died that day, there lies a stifling cathedral. Caretaker’s body lies prone in the grounds there, in a box they will never reopen.

Whumpee chokes back a sickening sob. He swallows the pills without water.

-

Thanks to @augusnippets for this event!

[raven-fucks-around-and-writes]

A shot, harboring death rang through the air.

Caretaker was dead, whumpee knew it due to the deafening silence and the heavy thud of their body hitting the ground. Caretaker had been murdered in cold blood, and it was all whumpee's fault. Even worse, they were all alone again.

"I specifically told you what would happen if they tried to save you whumpee," Whumper sighed, approaching them and nudging caretakers body out of the way with their foot. "Now that that arrogant little bitch is out of the way, we can be together again. Wouldn't that be fun?"

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[echoingalaxies]

cw: death, trauma

Whumpee got seriously injured, and died while Caretaker was holding them.

They did manage to bring them back to life, though, and everyone is fussing over Whumpee, their recovery and well-being.

But what about Caretaker?

Who had to feel their loved one go limp and stop breathing in their arms? Who can't stop hearing Whumpee's "last words" echoing in their head?

Who will wake up in the middle of the night to make sure Whumpee's chest is still rising and falling?

Who has to hold on to Whumpee as much as they can, just to feel their pulse on their fingertips?

Who is obviously, completely fine, because Whumpee is the wounded one, and they are still alive, after all.

So what's the big deal?

[themastergifs]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MICHELLE GOMEZ (November 23, 1966)

[whump-galaxy]

The team is captured and lined up in front of their captors. The most defiant among them, of course, cannot keep their mouth shut. They mock, taunt, and jeer till one captor has had enough.

They grab the whumpee by the throat, asking if they really want to die like this. The whumpee bares their teeth with a defiant smile.

And spits directly in the captor’s face.

[rickyriddle]

Agatha Harkness, gay in every universe 🏳️‍🌈

[little-pondhead]

Classic "promised-at-birth-to-the-Ghost-King" story, except the contract never states how, exactly, the King is to use the offered soul. Usually, one would be offered as a bride or sacrifice. But with Pariah Dark sealed away, his retainers got a little lazy in the last few millennia. They just made some generic contracts and practically handed them out like candy.

When Danny took over as king via conquest, that included all the weird and messed up soul contracts the previous retainers had signed. And since ghost magic was a thing and seemed to have it out for Danny personally, many of these contracts updated their terms and conditions as soon as that crown hit Danny's head, reflecting the new King's subconscious desires and personality.

This caused many issues with those still around to profit from these contracts. Some people lost their power, some gained more, and some were unbound and kicked to the curb. A few special people found themselves dropping dead after their less-than-ethical abilities disappeared.

Danny was unaware of the chaos he had unintentionally caused for quite a while. It was only brought to his attention when a letter arrived on his desk one day with a copy of someone's valid contract enclosed. The new changes have been highlighted, and a separate note is attached.

It seems that in exchange for blessings of near-immortality for her infant son, a mother had offered Pariah Dark both their souls in order to ensure her child's survival during harsh times. (The souls were to be collected upon death and were to be used as soldiers in the King's Army.) The mother's soul had returned to the Keep decades ago and was recently assigned to tend to the gardens, while her son seemed to have grown into a fine gentleman and was still alive. He used his mother's gifts to serve his country and loved ones well, it seemed.

At first, Danny didn't see what any of this had to do with him. If the mother was already a part of his kingdom, and the son would be eventually, why was a letter about the whole thing showing up before him?

Then he read the revised contract, which bore his magical signature. A signature that overruled the power of Pariah and binding it to him.

'...and as such, in return for the abilities stated above, [Mary Pennyworth] and [Alfred Pennyworth] will fulfill the conditions detailed below, upon pain of Ending.

[Mary Pennyworth], when returned to the Kingdom of Dark Kingdom of Stars, will work as a lieutenant in the Skeleton Army caretaker in the Gardens of Pluto.

STATUS: COMPLETED

[Alfred Pennyworth], when returned to the Kingdom of Dark Kingdom of Stars, will work as a general in the Skeleton Army caretaker of the King and his Court.

STATUS: PENDING'

Danny had to re-read the contract several times to understand what it was saying. He now had a caretaker? What did a caretaker do? Was it like a ghost parent? Could this guy ghost-ground him??

He sighed and pressed the speed dial on his phone for Tucker. Time to find out who the hell this Alfred Pennyworth guy was, and how to break a magic contract when it wasn't even fulfilled yet.

Meanwhile, Alfred had just found the original copy of the contract amongst his mother's belongings after it glowed and drew him in. The paperwork cleared up a lot of mysteries he'd always wondered about himself, even if he disapproved of his mother's methods. Nonetheless, he smoothed out the aged paper with dark green ink, noted the fresh (sloppy, a teenager?) signature, and began preparing to meet this supposed new King and his Court.

It wouldn't hurt to make introductions before he died, after all.

[whump-in-the-closet]

hey you. yes you the starry-eyed character. the narrative gave you a chance. One shot at the thing you want most in the world, beyond everything else, bright and glittering and always out of reach. There’s only one catch, but it’s hardwired into you. If you were a creature, you’d be a deer with branching antlers and soft steps. And you’re on the highway in the brutal dead of night. Oh right, the catch. You’re not selfish. You’ll give everything up, all of it, for someone else if they asked. You’d fuck yourself over without a second thought. You never win, do you? When the car hits, they check on the passengers while you lie split open on the asphalt. Listen, you either lose your kindness or it dies with you. But what are you without it?

[maladaptiveobsession]

“Jealousy and Isolation”

Synopsis: How might the yandere DOL NPCs isolate the player?

Contains: gn!reader, gn!NPCs, abduction, body mutilation, blackmailing, coercion, death, degradation, drowning, gas lighting, isolation, manipulation, murder, restraints, surveillance, threats of suicide, threats of violence, yandere

Words: 1,050

A/N: Ivory Wraith presents a unique case, so they get an entire section dedicated just to them. I’m not completely satisfied with this, but I can’t bear to stare at it for a second more.

Manipulation

They use your fears against you. Town isn’t safe; you’ve said so yourself. Don’t go anywhere. No harm can come to you so long as you stay by their side. Just let them shoulder your burdens. They’ll support you and take care of you. You only need them.

➥ Alex, high love!Avery Bailey, Black Wolf, Charlie, Darryl, Doren, Eden, Great Hawk, Gwylan, Harper,Jordan, Kylar, Landry, Mickey, Morgan, Relaxed Guard, Remy, high confidence!Robin, Scarred Inmate, Sydney, Quinn, Sam, Sirris, Veteran Guard, Whitney, Winter, Zephyr

Every insecurity is weaponized, reminding you constantly just how weak and alone you truly are. You’re less likely to rebel if you think so little of yourself. Only they won’t abandon you by the wayside. Who else gives a damn about you? Can’t you see how much you need them?

➥ high dom!Alex, Anxious Gaurd, Avery, Bailey, Black Wolf, Briar, Charlie, Eden, Harper, Jordan, Leighton, Mason, Methodical Gaurd, Niki,, Remy, Quinn, Sam, Scarred Inmate, pure!Sydney, Veteran Gaurd, Whitney

They take advantage of your emotions: guilt tripping, love bombing, and holding you hostage using their life. Haven’t they proven themself capable? Haven’t they shown how much they care? Does what you have mean nothing to you? It’s so lonely without you. They need you. Please don’t go. Can’t you see how much they love you? They can’t live without you. Don’t make them do something you’ll both regret.

➥ low dom!Alex, high love!Eden, Charlie, Darryl, Doren, Great Hawk, Gwylan, Kylar, Mickey, River, Robin, Sam, Sirris, corrupt!Sydney, high love!Whitney, Wren

Coercion/Intimidation

It would be a shame if your friends suddenly disappeared, wouldn’t it? One by one, everyone you care about is disposed of in some puzzling manner or another. Who could have predicted this series of unfortunate events? It’s just such a dangerous place, you know?

➥ Avery, Bailey, Briar, Eden, Jordan, Kylar, Mickey, Niki, Quinn, Remy, Scarred Inmate, Veteran Guard, Wren, Zephyr

You can certainly try to get away, but your life will be torn to shambles. Failing school, struggling to find work, and/or suddenly a social pariah? Maybe you were better off with them, after all. Grovel for forgiveness, and perhaps they’ll take you back.

➥ Anxious Guard, Avery, Bailey, Briar, Charlie, Jordan, Leighton, Mason, Mickey, Niki, Quinn, Relaxed Gaurd, Remy, high confidence!Robin, Sam, Sirris, Whitney, Winter

Blackmailing you is laughably easy. There’s so much dirt to choose from! Disobey their commands, and suddenly the whole town will know of your affairs. Perhaps the police will knock on your door, finally having enough evidence for an arrest? If you enjoy your privacy and freedom, you’d best listen well.

➥ Avery, Bailey, Briar, Harper, Jordan, Landry, Leighton, Mason, Mickey, Niki, Quinn, Relaxed Guard, Remy, pure!Sydney, Whitney, Wren

Abduction/confinement

You made them do this; you left them with no other choice. You can’t leave; not now, nor ever. The thought of losing you is unbearable. Don’t worry; they’ll take care of you now that you’re home.

➥ Alex, Anxious Guard, high love!Avery, Bailey, Black Wolf, Eden, Great Hawk, Gwylan, high confidence!Robin, Jordan, Kylar, Landry, Mickey, Morgan, Relaxed Guard, River, Sam, Sirris, Sydney, Veteran Guard, Wren

Much too impatient and suspicious of a person, you’re kidnapped with little to no hesitation. There was too much risk in letting you roam free. You’d have made a mess of things, but that was in the past. Now, nobody could steal what belonged to them. You’d be going nowhere so long as they were near.

➥ Avery, Bailey, Briar, Eden, Harper, Kylar, Landry, Mickey, Methodical Guard, Niki, Relaxed Gaurd, Remy, Scared Inmate, Veteran Guard, Zephyr

It hadn’t been intentional, but there was no turning back. Whether recovering from an injury while under their care or simply utilizing their home as a safe haven, your presence became a familiar constant—intoxicating, addictive, and natural. The reality of you leaving sunk in slowly, despair gnashing at their nerves each time the topic was broached. No, it hadn’t been intentional, but their dependency on you pressed against their throat like a knife. Life without you was inconceivable. You can’t leave yet; they’re not sure they ever want you to leave. They supported you in your time of need. Return the favor by staying, will you? Don’t force their hand; there’s no telling what they might do if you resist—anything to keep you right where you belong.

➥ Alex, Avery, Bailey, Charlie, Darryl, Doren, Gwylan, Jordan, Landry, Leighton, Mason, Methodical Guard, Niki, Relaxed Guard, Remy, River, Robin, Sam, Sirris, Sydney, Veteran Guard, Whitney, Winter, Wren

Restrained with whatever they have on hand: rope, shackles, straightjacket, cages, handcuffs, leashes, and the like. Don’t complain; they’d have no need to do this if you weren’t a flight risk. There’s certainly no hope of freedom when you can’t even sit up or use the bathroom without help. You’re more likely to injure yourself, but if you do somehow manage to undo your restraints, heavily locked doors and windows keep you from going anywhere.

➥ Little to no hesitation: high dom! Alex Anxious Guard, Avery, Bailey, Briar, Eden, Harper, Kylar, Methodical Guard, Niki, Relaxed Guard, Remy, Scared Inmate, Sirris, corrupt!Sydney, Veteran Guard, Whitney, Winter, Wren, Zephyr

➥ Reluctant last resort: Charlie, Darryl, Jordan, Mason, Mickey, River, confident!Robin, pure!Sydney

Your every moment is monitored. The constant surveillance dehumanizes you and fills you with paranoia. They always know where you are and what you’re doing. Your absence will be noted immediately, so don’t even think about leaving them. Temporary freedom is not worth the punishment.

➥ Anxious Guard, Avery, Bailey, Briar, Darryl, Harper, Jordan, Kylar, Landry, Methodical Guard, Mickey, Niki, Sydney, Quinn, Sirris, Vereran Guard, Wren

Perhaps some solitary confinement will do you good. You can only handle the seclusion for so long before the craving for any form of human contact sets in. Well-behaved darlings get cuddles and comfort; disobedience, however, won’t be tolerated. You’ll realize just how much you need them when they’re all you have.

➥ Little to no hesitation: high dom!Alex, Anxious Guard, Avery, low love!Eden, Harper, Methodical Guard, Niki, Relaxed Guard, Remy, Sirris, Zephyr

➥ Reluctant last resort: Bailey, high love!eden, Charlie, Jordan, Mason, River, Sam

They’ll dull your temper by keeping you intoxicated, too junked up to even dream of escape. You’re so much more pleasant and cooperative this way; so eyes void of thought. You don’t even resist when their hands wander, giggly and playful and responsive. While they do miss your authentic self, the power they wield over you is much too appealing to surrender. Why, you can hardly feed yourself! Subduing any fits of clarity is laughably easy when you’re body is unresponsive to your efforts. There’s just no way you could leave with mush for brain.

➥ Little to no hesitation: Anxious Guard, Avery, Briar, Harper, Kylar, Leighton, Niki, Quinn, Sirris

➥ Reluctant last resort: Mickey, Relaxed Guard, Whitney, Wren

Don’t make them hurt you. They’re not above breaking a few bones to immobilize you and send a message. You could even lose your vision or leg entirely. It’s not like they wanted to disable you, but you left them no other choice. Now, you really won’t be able to leave, having to depend on them for just about everything. You should have listened; at least then you’d still be able to walk yourself to the toilet. 

➥ Little to no hesitation: Briar, low love!Eden, Harper, jealous!Kylar, Leighton, Methodical Guard, Morgan, Quinn, low love/high dom Whitney, Zephyr

➥ Reluctant last resort: high dom!Alex, high love!Avery Bailey, Jordan, Kylar, Relaxed Guard, Remy, Veteran Guard, high love!Whitney, Wren

Death

If they can’t have you, no one can. You can’t abandon them if you’re dead; you can’t do much of anything, in fact. Fueled by obsessive hysteria, your life is cut short. Viscera paints your skin, body tight from rigor mortis. Though you can no longer kiss them, hold them, or whisper tender affections in their ear, nobody can steal you away from them. Even as your body molds, bowels becoming home to maggots, you’ll at least never leave. Even as your flesh melts to reveal bones, you’re still only theirs.

➥ Harper, Kylar, Morgan

Their capabilities wax and wane with the moon, only ever to call you home when the blood moon dyes the night skies red. Some cycles, you evade them entirely. They so desperately crave your touch, the longing intensifying with each passing lunation. The desire to possess you had since long replaced the resentment. No longer did they seek restitution, but rather your continued company. Though a grave robber you may be, you belonged to them all the same. The wraith owned so very few things—one of which you so cruelly stole—so forgive them if they’re not keen to share. Your departure each moon was torturous and heart-wrenching. It occurred to them that you would only remain if the option to leave was stricken. Mindless tentacles confined you deep under the lake surface, large hands possessively clasping your neck. Grave robber and grave dancer united by death—drowned in the cold depths and buried by water—as two, as one. Bound as malefic phantoms, days mean nothing in the maw of forever.

➥ Ivory Wraith

[whumperofworlds]

Caretaker who defeated Whumper and went home...

But forgot to free Whumpee, who was held captive by now-dead Whumper.

Whumpee somehow frees themself and comes home to Caretaker pissed AF.

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[jordanstrophe]

Caretaker thinks they're dead.

They see whumpee laying on the ground, they're not moving a muscle, they can't even see breathing. Caretaker checks their pules first, their heart doesn't beat until they feel whumpee's first.

[echoingalaxies]

Whumpee is dying, nothing can stop it anymore. Instead of a goodbye - when Whumpee closes their eyes for the last time, when they take their final breaths, when their hand in Caretaker's goes limp - Caretaker whispers "good night."

[justbreakonme]

The hotel was a little chilly and had that odd old-carpet smell, but it was safe, for now. Caretaker helped get Whumpee washed up and into bed, and they were just about to climb into bed as well when the phone rang.

Both of them froze.

Caretaker picked it up, knuckles white.

“Hello?”

Whumpers voice crackled through the phone.

“You can’t prove I did anything to him.”

Caretaker’s grip on the phone tightened and they glanced at the triple latched hotel door.

“What?”

“You can’t prove anything, there’s no fingerprints or photos, just my word against his, and alibis are cheap.”

“Oh… you think that I care about putting you in jail?” the laughter in Caretaker’s voice was almost genuine, “No no, I’m going to hunt you down. I’m going to beat you to death with my bare hands. Then, I’m going to smile in my mugshot, knowing that no amount of money or powerful connections can buy your way out of hell where you belong.”

Silence.

Caretaker hung up the phone with a snap, and looked back at Whumpee.

“I’m sorry-“

“Thank you.”

[whump-galaxy]

“I don’t like you, but I’m not gonna let you die here.”

“Why? You think you’re some hero for saving me?”

“No, if you’re gonna die, it’ll be because I killed you myself. Not some leg infection.”