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livingforthewhump · 2 years

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Can you do a snippet of a caretaker comforting whumpee after whumpee hurts or breaks something that caretaker really cares about?

No 7. The Way You Shake and Shiver

Shaking Hands|Shivers|Silent Panic Attack

Whumpee had been doing better lately. A lot better, really. They had stopped sitting on the floor. They ate when they were given food, and stopped needing the reassurances that they had permission to do basic things. They still didn’t speak much unless spoken to, and almost never asked for anything, even though Caretaker knew they wanted to do both. But progress is progress, and Caretaker needed to celebrate where they could. Whumpee had been through enough that anything remotely positive seemed world-changing to them.

Today had been relatively peaceful. Caretaker was off work, so after eating breakfast and doing a couple chores, they were sitting down with a book and a cup of tea. They had also made one for Whumpee, since they noticed they enjoyed it, and now Whumpee was in the other room doing…something. Caretaker didn’t actually know, but they were so proud of Whumpee for going off by themself that they didn’t want to start asking a bunch of questions and make them think they weren’t allowed to.

Still, it was probably about time to go check on them. With a sigh, they put a bookmark in their book and stood up.

Whumpee was dusting. They stopped in the doorway when they saw it, heart sinking a little. One of the walls of the room was a gallery wall of sorts, covered in frames, and Whumpee was standing on the tallest tip-toes they could, almost teetering over to reach the top of one of the frames with the duster.

They weren’t aware they’d done it until after the fact. It was entirely unconscious as they considered how to convince Whumpee yet again that they didn’t have to earn their keep—a slight shifting of their weight, a rustle of their clothes, a small sigh, barely there at all—but it was enough.

Whumpee jumped, twisting around in the shock of someone discovering they were being watched. They lost their balance in the turn. It seemed like it all happened in slow motion. Their eyes widened, their arms flailed, and they tossed themself at the wall behind them as an attempt to catch themself before hitting the ground. The picture frames clattered against the wall as Whumpee fell into them. The back of their head hit one harshly, sending spiderweb cracks up the glass. The frame teetered on its mounting before crashing to the floor right in between Caretaker and Whumpee, glass shards spraying out onto the floor like freshly fallen snow.

Before Caretaker could even react, Whumpee made to step forward, as if they—hands and feet bare—were going to pick up each grain of glass on their own.

“Don’t move!” Caretaker yelped, heart racing. “Stay right there. I’m going to go get something. I’ll be right back. Do you understand?”

Whumpee stood frozen, but they gave a jerky nod.

Moving as quickly as they could, Caretaker put on their houseshoes, grabbed the broom and vacuum, and got Whumpee’s houseshoes as well.

Still, when they got back, Whumpee had pressed themself against the wall, specifically avoiding the other frames, sitting with their knees tucked up to their chin. Their shoulders were moving up and down rapidly, but it didn’t seem like any breath was going through them.

Caretaker fought back the urge to curse. It would only upset Whumpee more—gbut they’d been doing so well, and Caretaker couldn’t help but feel like this was their fault. How long would it be before Whumpee felt comfortable enough to go off on their own again, even if it was just to try and clean?

They closed their eyes and tried to walk through what had happened from Whumpee’s point of view. It usually helped to calm Whumpee down if Caretaker could figure out exactly what they were afraid of based on what had just happened.

They were cleaning, Caretaker made a noise, Whumpee fell and knocked the frame down (which Caretaker was certain they would blame themself for), then Caretaker told them not to move. Forcefully.

Wait. When they left the room, had they said what they were going to go get? Whumpee was used to expecting the worst. If they blamed themself for what just happened, and all Caretaker did was yell and leave to get ‘something’....oh no.

“Whumpee,” Caretaker began hesitantly. Their shoulders jerked at the sound of their name before falling back into their rapid pattern. “I got some things to clean up the glass so we don’t get hurt, see?”

They held up the broom and vacuum, though Whumpee didn’t look.

Caretaker pursed their lips. “I’m sorry that I yelled. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was reacting without thinking because I was scared you would hurt yourself with the glass, but I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

No response. Whumpee was shaking now. They grew tenser at every noise while Caretaker started sweeping. They continued to talk softly, repeating the same sentences over and over. Sometimes it helped, to reframe the misunderstandings as just that, and not a punishment waiting to happen. When they got a path cleared to Whumpee, they walked over slowly and knelt down in front of them.

Another thing that usually helped was getting them out of the environment the mishap occurred in. Taking them to another room would be enough, and getting them comfortable again was Caretaker’s top priority.

“Here, Whumpee, put these on,” they said gently, holding out their slippers to them. Whumpee still didn't look up. Their head dropped lower, arms lifting up, wrists together—they were offering their wrists up to be bound. They thought Caretaker had…

Caretaker felt sick. Of course, they knew that none of Whumpee expecting Caretaker to hurt them was a response to Caretaker. It was a response to how Whumpee had been treated in the past. They knew that, and yet each time, something in their chest ached and whispered that they really had messed up badly enough to justify this response. That they were just like whatever freak had done this to Whumpee, because otherwise they would be responding differently.

They shoved that voice aside for the time being. With their free hand, they softly pushed Whumpee’s proffered arms back down.

“Whumpee, could you look at me, please?”

Slowly, that head raised. Whumpee’s eyes were blown wide, mouth hanging open from the breaths pumping in and out of them, fast and sharp like a blacksmith’s bellows.

Caretaker’s heart ripped in two. “Whumpee, love, I’m not going to hurt you. I would never do that. Let’s try and slow our breathing down, okay? I’m going to count, and you try to breathe in, then out, for four seconds each.”

They started counting slowly, waiting patiently and keeping their tone gentle until Whumpee’s erratic breaths slowed to a shaky their-brain-is-actually-getting-oxygen speed.

“Wonderful job, Whumpee,” Caretaker smiled. “You did really well. I’m sorry I didn’t communicate what I was doing well. That was my fault. Can you put your houseshoes on so the glass doesn’t cut your feet? I swept it up, but I might have missed some.”

Whumpee took the slippers with shaking hands, sliding their feet into them and accepting Caretaker’s help in standing.

By the time they got to the living room, Whumpee was crying. Caretaker sat them down on the couch and made some fresh tea, allowing the poor thing some room to breathe for a minute. They tried to give them a bit of space after an incident like that, and if the crying was just a stress response to the past few minutes, it would dry up before too much longer. If there was something Whumpee was still concerned about, they would know by the time the tea had finished steeping.

And lo and behold, Whumpee was sobbing when Caretaker set their mug down in front of them.

“Oh, Whumpee,” Caretaker breathed, wrapping them in a hug as they sat on the couch beside them. Whumpee's fingers clung to their shirt while they sobbed into their shoulder. “What’s got you so upset, love? Hm?”

The response came slowly. “I-I, hmn, I bro-oke your p-picture.”

Caretaker rubbed circles onto their back. “It wasn’t your fault, love. I scared you. I’m sorry. I can buy a new frame, don’t worry.”

“B-but, but you love your pictures and I ruined the wall and the room and I’m so sorry but it’s already broken and you won’t want to keep me anymore because I mess everything up and—”

“Woah, woah, hey,” Caretaker drew back, taking Whumpee by the shoulders. “Where did all of that come from? Who said I don’t want you anymore?”

Whumpee looked uncertain, cheeks blotchy from crying.

“I can buy a new frame for the picture, Whumpee. I only got upset because I was worried about you. Do you understand?”

A hesitant nod.

A slight smile in response. “Is your head okay? You hit it pretty hard.”

“It’s…achey,” Whumpee whispered.

“I’ll go get you a heat pack.”

—

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#whumptober2022 #no.7 #silent panic attack #shaking hands #shivers #oc #whump fic #misunderstanding #trauma response #broken glass #disordered thinking #uhh i’m like 90% sure this is bad but hey i wrote it #so I might as well post

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