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moonshine-nightlight · 1 year

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Two

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 22

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] Part Twenty-Two [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

“Well now ladies,” the tallest man speaks, his voice low and condescending. He’s smug too, like the cat that got the mouse, as he steps forward twirling a dagger. “You don’t seem to have our prize stallion with you as we expected, but I’m certain his filly and granny will make perfect bait.”

You’re glad to have a wall at your back in some ways, but you’d feel better with a method of escape.

“I know not what your aim is,” Grandmother begins. You’re relieved to hear Grandmother speak. The way her strength had been failing, you were getting worried about how bad she might have been hurt. You also have no idea what to do next, the assassins fanned out in a semi-circle on the other side of the desk you two are behind. Her voice is rough, but strong, as she continues, “but I assure you: it will fail!”

“Know not?” the one on the right says, her voice more bored than anything. Her head tilts with the question, but she keeps her spear pointed at your corner. She’s got a scarf tied tight about her mouth and hair, leaving only eyes free. She’s clad in dark well-worn clothes that give free range of movement. There’s a bulk to them that suggests leather armor of some sort is under them. She stands with a sturdiness you can determine even with your minimal martial knowledge. She looks like it’d take an ox to move her where she doesn’t want to go.

“Clen just said what our aim is,” the one on the left says, his voice mocking. Grimly, you agree. They all but said you’re now hostages to them, leverage against Dale. You wonder what he might have done, likely not to them, but to those that hired them. These were rough folks, but skilled. Although, they did bungle their actual capture of Dale, nabbing you and Grandmother instead.

They’ve already adapted their plan and they still seem confident. The tall man—Clen—isn’t even out of breath as he holsters his crossbow. The fact that no one’s heard the commotion is really starting to worry you. That means they must have incapacitated those nearby. Anyone you could have alerted or called to help must either be away or somehow dealt with already.

Of all the worries you had about this wedding, somehow attackers targeting Dale or yourself had never crossed your mind. Clearly, you’d been thinking too small, you realize somewhat hysterically. It’s taking everything you have to keep yourself together, but you know you must.

You’re no fighter, certainly not outnumbered with someone to protect. All of your minimal lessons were with weapons you didn’t have, people you do not have around you, and primarily were geared towards escaping. They also tended to be in consideration of one opponent, not four highly trained ones.

“She’s got a bit of a bleed going from her head,” Clen replies. You feel ice slip into your veins and turn your head, trying to keep them in sight but also take a look at Grandmother. You don’t even remember pushing her into the chair behind this desk. She’s managing to seat herself confidently. Her posture makes it appear as though these are mere hooligans who’ve burst into her office unannounced. Only the thin trickle of blood down her cheek betrays her affectation.

You press one of your spare handkerchiefs into her hand, while readying another. “Please use it to stop the blood,” you whisper to her. “You must.”

Grandmother accepts the cloth from you, but you both keep your gazes fixed on the assassins, unable to look away from the threat.

“So I suppose we can’t blame her for not following the obvious,” Clen grins. His scarf covers his head too, but it has holes for his eyes and leaves his mouth visible. The other man is taller than the woman, but shorter than the other men, with only a scarf covering his mouth. You can’t see well in the light, but you think he’s got markings either cut into his short shorn hair or inked onto his scalp.

The final one hasn’t said anything. He’s the one who appeared suddenly in front of you to cut off your escape. He also has no covering on his face at all. His hair is black streaked through with gray and his eyes seem to glow, highlighting the blue of one and the green of the other. He looks the least physically strong, but you’ve a feeling he doesn’t fight that way—not to discount the short sword he does have in his hand.

Assassins, a word you can hardly believe you are thinking, also tend to come in two breeds: those who are extremely skilled fighters and thieves and those who are that and also dabble in demonics. That last one is definitely the latter. And even the others look like they might at least have had some Depth enhancement work done. Did someone know to send such types after Dale? Or were they merely counting on Northridge being vulnerable to such attackers? Maybe this group was just the best money could buy.

“We’re here for your little heir,” Clen says, enough theater pomp to his manner that you wonder if he was once a performer. “Our generous patrons want him trussed up and escorted back to them. Before we deal with him to their satisfaction. Bit frustrating he didn’t come back with you two as he had every past nights, but we’ve time to wait.”

“Even with this distance between us,” he smirks, waving an arm towards where you and Grandmother are wedged. “I know you agree that you’re well and truly cornered.”

“So sit still and wait like good bait,” the man on his left says, his eyes and voice conveying the smirk he must be wearing, “danglin’ on the hook, for the lordling to arrive.” You think you like him the least. His eyes seem cruel and his daggers very sharp.

“You can yell all you want then,” the woman says, seemingly convinced that you’ll stay put. She’s pulled her spear back to her and is polishing it with her sleeve. “But don’t bother now. Some’at mysterious struck the guards this wing of the house. What was it again, Lasky?”

“Food poisoning something bad, I heard,” the man on the left, who must be Lasky, says. His eyes seem to linger on you in particular, despite Grandmother doing the talking, even now when answering the woman. You wish you had more than a dull dinner knife on you because the idea of that one in particular anywhere near you makes your skin crawl

“My lot are in the cellar,” the woman returns with a shrug, “got stuck somehow.”

“And Two won’t tell what he did to his,” Clen jerks his head at the silent, unmasked man. He’s the one you’ve already decided is the most dangerous. You’re certain he’s by far the most mixed up in demonics. Even beyond the superstition of people with two different colored eyes. His disinterest in hiding his identity, the shadow movement he displayed, his silence and lack of blinking all point towards possession to you. He unnerves you far more than Dale did, even in the beginning. There’s a carelessness to him, something unbound and unrestrained. You don’t want to think on what he could do, if he wanted to. Your only comfort is the fact that he seems largely uninterested in doing anything but leaning against the wall and waiting.

“You will not succeed in this plan,” Grandmother says, clearly fed up with their antics. You’re happy she has it in her to feel annoyed instead of just scared, with the edge of anger like you. “You would do best to try to make your escape now while you still have the opportunity.”

“She’s got brass ones to be threatenin’ us right now,” Lasky says with a laugh that Clen joins in on.

“You’ve no idea what we’re capable of,” Clen says to Grandmother once he’s stopped. “If only your grandson hadn’t angered quite so many people with the money to spare. Mayhap then they’d have hired those lesser than us to accomplish their bidding.”

“He really shouldn’t have cheated that one Lord at cards,” Lasky adds and you can hear Grandmother let out an outraged huff. You bite your lip to hold back unexpected, ironic laughter at the idea that this is just more of same. Original Dale, being careless and leaving others to suffer for his mistakes. “I think he paid more than half our fee by himself.

“My Dale is no cheater,” Grandmother retorts hotly, as if that mattered at all. “If they had a real case, they would follow the proper channels. They would not send thugs after him.”

“Well, our patrons disagree,” Clen replies. He doesn’t slide his sword back into its sheath, but stretches with it still in hand. His shirt rides up to reveal red ink markings that confirm to you he’s got some sort of demonic enhancements.

“Although the knight is a hypocrite,” the woman scoffs. “Complaining about someone else cheating.”

“Who cares? He’s the one paying us extra for—” Lasky starts to say before Two gives him a look. It’s not even particularly menacing, just filled with intent. Clen gets tense for all he doesn’t look at Two, but the woman gives Lasky a glare fit to set him on fire. Lasky shuts up.

She stalks over to him, pointing her spear at him with a thunderous expression on her face.

Lasky turns from Two, who’s gone back to looking out through the open doorway to the courtyard, to face her. “Not your place, Vi—don’t try and speak on things you don’t—”

“Don’t need to understand to know you’d best keep your mouth shut, you ninny,” Vi hisses. “I made an exception, working with you lot, and I’ll not be regretting it.”

“Is this the time?” Clen sounds exasperated and turns to get between them. The resulting argument is quiet enough that it devolves to unrecognizable words and sounds.

Your eyes automatically dart to the door and then to the courtyard, but you know you’d never out run them, let alone be able to with Grandmother in tow. And if they think they’ll be discovered, well, Grandmother would lose her value as a hostage. Besides, your eyes trip past Two while looking. He’s switched back to staring at you.

“Keep calm,” Grandmother whispers in your ear, seemingly wanting to take advantage of the argument. You’re grateful she seems coherent, if tired, but her voice is less strong in your ear than when she was yelling at Clen.

“Your maid and my own will likely have already realized we’re missing,” she reminds you. You’d completely forgotten about sending hers ahead and no doubt yours will be up in your rooms with your late night nibbles soon, both wondering where you two are. “No doubt they will find some guards. Or it will be noticed some guards are missing from their posts. Either way, they will backtrack our route. It is only a waiting game. Just don’t let those ratbags get close.”

“I agree,” you say, glad your voice sounds steady. You try to pivot your body to keep them in the corner of your eye, for at least a few minutes. You desperately want to take a closer look at Grandmother’s injury. “How are you feeling?”

“I will be fine,” Grandmother insists, but she moves as you do, sitting more heavily in the chair with each passing second. You’re able to finally see that the arrow did graze her head. “Just rather…”

Her eyelids flutter rapidly and you hurry to brace her, barely able to keep from making a noise of surprise that might draw the kidnappers’ attention. Her hand falls to her side taking the handkerchief with it, stained red. The resulting cut is bleeding sluggishly into her hair and down her cheek. Since your spare is already in your hand, you’re quick to press it to the wound. You tug a ribbon free from your hair so you can try to fix the cloth in place.

You know the best you can hope for is to set her up in the least dangerous position that also leaves you free to protect her. Who knows what ideas these criminals might get without her conscious to be intimidating? With one less person to make a fuss?

You’ve just gotten it to stay when the sound of Lasky’s voice causes you to whip around.

“Aw, did she fall asleep?” he asks. His continually mocking tone sets your teeth on edge. The three who’d been involved in the argument are back to their original fanned out positions, best to limit your escape. He takes a step closer and you can’t help but press closer to the chair, needing something solid at your back. Needing to remember that now there’s only you there to defend Grandmother. You need to keep it together.

“Don’t feel lonely, I’ll keep you entertained, lady,” he says, stepping even closer. “I am certain I can keep your attention. I venture I could make you forget all about the pompous heir. His fault for letting his little betrothed walk back without him, isn’t it?”

Fear and anger rage inside you at his implications, at his approach. If only you were someone else, someone with the right training. Near everyone you know would be better in this situation than you: schoolmates, siblings. That sparks a memory and you glance down. This was the corset gifted to you by your oldest sister, who wasn’t a knight, but was never unarmed.

“Lasky,” Vi warns. “The granny’s already fainted.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Lasky says, glancing at Vi. “Well, not enough she would not still be useful.”

You hastily take advantage of that split second, fingers fumbling with the tie at the top of your corset. You slid a finger into the hole and drew out a flat, wickedly sharp dagger. Designed as a set with a sheath to act as a typical busk. It is on the thicker side than most busks, but still comfortable in its place down the center of your corset. While in its sheath it performs its job of lending stiffness to the corset. Out of its sheath, the blade is wicked sharp.

You had lessons on using it, but you’d never truly expected to need to apply them. That training was none of the forms and rules of typical martial training. Self-defense is about taking advantage of any vulnerability, leveraging whatever you had at your disposal to get away. It was all dirty tactics and cheap shots. You hold the dagger in front of yourself. The weight of the metal is slight, but steadying. You feel safer with something in hand to protect yourself with.

When Lasky turns back to you, his eyes immediately land on your new blade. “You think you can win a fight with that?” he sneers at it. “It’s hardly more than a letter opener.”

“No,” you reply truthfully, before you tighten your grip. You swallow, realizing you haven’t had to speak yet. You try to pull even an ounce of the steel Grandmother had in her voice into your own. “However, I think I can blind you in at least one eye or take a few of your fingers before you killed me.” Your voice is quieter, with less command than Grandmother’s, but it’s steady, which is more than you’d hoped for.“And I doubt you want that.”

“I told you these noble bitches were cold,” Clen says, but he doesn’t sound upset. Of all of them, he’s been almost cheerful the whole time. “Do not touch her until we have him—she is more tempting bait than the old woman. He’s probably just waiting for her to drop dead as it is. You know how these heirs are.”

Lasky hasn’t retreated, but he’s stopped advancing. You hope he can see how sharp the blade is. You hope he’s thinking about your words. How he will win the fight, but that you are more than capable of making him regret it. More than capable of leaving a lasting mark. That’s how they train the nobility who do not go into the military. Your virtue, your bloodline, are your most valuable possession. It is drilled into any noble, especially those who aren’t heirs, that you must ensure no one besmirches it.

“Would one of you lend me some aid?” Lasky complains.

“The plan was not to take prisoners,” Clen points out, still sound amused more than anything. He’s not even looking at Lasky anymore, instead he’s checking his gear. Obviously, the fight with Dale or whatever guards might come are his main focus. It worries you that they have such time and anticipation when Dale does not. However, it also is a comfort because that means he’s not paying you as much mind. “I would prefer to keep my hands free.”

“No rope,” Vi clarifies where she’s pushing some furniture to the side, making a clearer area for a fight. That makes sense given the reach of her weapon. It doesn’t help the dread pooling in your stomach. You wish they would simply tell Lasky he wasn’t allowed to touch you, that you’re too valuable a prisoner to risk. In the end, you’ll just have to settle for being a hair too much trouble to do more than leave you in the corner you’ve backed yourself into. Alone.

You want to check on Grandmother again. You want to see if she’s awoken or if the handkerchief is soaked through. But you can’t. You can’t afford to look away. Not with Lasky still where he is. Not with him still in the room. Not with him still conscious.

“Two doesn’t need rope,” Lasky says, but you think he’s pouting. Unable to believe how carelessly he’s saying these threats, you chance a glance at Two.

Two’s only indication he knows he’s being talked about is to cross his arms. He stares at you, still not blinking, but unlike Dale, his eyes don’t compel you to fall into them. His eyes make you want to look anywhere else. Given the threats currently facing you, you don’t feel too foolish for hastily looking away from him and back to Lasky.

“And I’m not spending the next however long trying to help you hold onto a squirming, crying girl for whatever purpose you’ve in mind,” Vi says, her voice hard. “Who knows when the heir might show up. And we can’t risk knocking her out with the granny unconscious.”

Lasky sighs, his eyes still betraying a grasping eagerness that you hate. He takes a step back regardless. “Fine, stay in that corner, but I’ll be back for you after we’ve dealt with your naughty fiance.”

You don’t take your eyes off of him, even as he retreats back to the others. You try to think of a plan, something else to do so that fear doesn’t overwhelm you like it’s threatening to. You keep the dagger upraised and pointed, but you try to push the chair back even further. You want to get it close enough to the closet. If you need to hide during the fight that will break out, you want the short distance possible to have to drag Grandmother and the chair.

As you slowly, slowly do move the chair, you keep your ears alert for any information they might let slip. You catch snatches of phrases which begin to paint a picture.

“…don’t want Two to tire himself with the girl when…” Clen says to Lasky, making you readjust your grip on your dagger. You raise the point since it had started to drift lower the longer you kept it aloft.

“…even want her? This payout…” Vi complains.

“…aren’t here,” Clen sounds exasperated even as he helps Lasky use a dagger to pry the jewels from a decorative statuette. “Those are back at their estate…take us….”

“It’s the knight, he’s the one who cares about that,” Lasky says. “It’s why he brought Two on. The heiress is the one who…”

“After. Once Northridge is secured, you can do what you want,” Vi says. “But you’re not risking my…”

You’re pretty sure the knight they keep referring to is Eastmont, who must have warned them Dale had some access to enhancement from the Depths. He seems to also want Dale’s research, which must be why they’re trying to capture him alive. It sounds like if they succeed, Lasky will still want to keep you a hostage—he continues to keep looking back at you. His gaze makes a visceral feeling of disgust well up within you at the way they drag over your body.

You try to think about who these other benefactors might be, a Lord and heiress are the only others they’ve mentioned. But before you think much further on it, Two straightens from his spot near the courtyard door, turning to face the door you came through instead.

The others instantly fall silent.

It takes a tense moment that seems to stretch on and on, until you finally hear what Two must have.

“…certain they only went to the courtyard for some air, my Lord,” a woman is saying and you find yourself barely breathing as you try to hear over your thundering heartbeat for the reply.

“It seems a long time for such a thing to take, especially so late at night.” It is Dale. The relief that floods you is almost dizzying and you sway where you stand. Quickly, you shake your head and adjust your footing. Everything is about to get very very chaotic and you need to be ready.

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, my Lord,” the woman replies, “but things take longer for those getting on in years.”

“I shall forgive you,” Dale’s voice is cheerfully teasing and just that sound is immensely comforting to you. “However, best pray Grandmother doesn’t hear you say such a thing.”

“I would never,” the woman says as they get even closer. “Here, I believe Mr Allen said this is likely the way they went.”

They’re so close and you’re torn. Is it selfish to be so grateful he’s joining you in this extremely dangerous situation? Should you call out to forewarn Dale or should you not send him racing in to his death? Will it help or hinder him for you to shout? What is the right course of action?

But time is slipping through your fingers. You make your decision and pray it’s the right choice.

“Dale!”

[Part Twenty-Three]

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whump-or-whatever · 1 year

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Whump Vignette #5

Contents: stabbing, blood loss, hidden injury, falling unconscious, blackmail, self-sacrifice, waking up in hospital, implied past torture

Whumpee and Caretaker sat side by side on the courtroom bench. Whumper was in the defendants chair, a smug look on their face. Chains attached the shackles on their wrists to the ones on their ankles. Every so often Whumper would cast a glance back at Whumpee, causing them to shiver each time. Whumper grinned as they observed the effect they had on Whumpee. Caretaker cast worried glances at Whumpee every so often, but Whumpee avoided their eyes, trying not to let on how much Whumper was getting to them.

After days of trial, the judge had sent the jury for deliberation. The next day a verdict had been reached and the court had reconvened. A few final formalities were dealt with, some statements made, and the judge called for a 20 minute recess before the reading of the verdict. Whumpee sighed and stood up, saying to Caretaker “I’m gonna run to the washroom, I’ll be right back.”

Caretaker looked them over worriedly. They knew Whumpee was under a great deal of stress. Having to testify against Whumper had certainly taken a lot out of Whumpee and Caretaker could see the wave of discomfort that washed over them each time Whumper glanced their way. Nonetheless, Caretaker nodded, figuring Whumpee just needed a moment to prepare themself.

Whumpee wound their way through several corridors, looking for the washroom furthest away from the courtroom. They found one and walked in, leaning down to see that there were no feet in the stalls. Letting out a relieved breath, they went to a sink and splashed some cold water on their face. Whumpee leaned against the porcelain, staring at their reflection in the mirror. They could feel their muscles trembling, responding to the adrenaline which had been running through them since they entered the courtroom that morning. Closing their eyes, they took deep breaths in and out, trying to calm their racing heart.

Whumpee heard the door to the washroom open and they stood up straight, wiping the water off their face with a piece of paper towel. They glanced surreptitiously in the mirror to see who walked in, and their heart dropped into their stomach as they were met with Whumper’s grinning face. Whumpee spun around, pressing their back into the sink. Whumper’s cuffs had been removed and they stood casually with their hands in their pockets.

“How did you get in here?” Whumpee asked, mouth dry.

“I reached an understanding with my guards,” Whumper responded, taking a few slow steps forwards. “They do what I say, their families stay alive.”

Whumpee swallowed roughly, eyes darting around, looking for a way out. Whumper saw this and chuckled. “No use trying to run, the guards are right outside the door and you won’t get past them.”

Reluctantly, Whumpee met Whumper’s eyes with a look of desperation. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you, I want to give you something. A gift of sorts. In kind to the gift you gave me.” Whumper pulled their hand out of their pocket to reveal a small knife. Flicking the blade open, they turned it to admire how the metal caught the light.

Whumpee stood stock still, tracking every movement Whumper made with rapt attention.

Whumper looked back up at Whumpee, as if just remembering they were there. “You got me arrested and in return I give you this.”

Whumper approached Whumpee, getting within a few inches of them. Whumpee was unable to move. They wanted to, told themself they had to, but their feet stayed rooted to the spot. Whumper gently pulled Whumpee’s jacket open, resting the tip of their knife against Whumpee’s dress shirt just above their right hip. Whumpee held their breath, eyes straining down at the weapon.

“I am going to stab you. You will do what you have to do to hide it and return to the courtroom where we will wait to hear the verdict. This way, regardless of the outcome, I will have my revenge.” Whumper spoke evenly. “Then, once the trial is over, you will go home and die. If you tell anyone, seek medical treatment, or otherwise reveal what has happened here today, an unfortunate accident will befall Caretaker. Do you understand me?”

Whumpee nodded stiffly.

“Good.” And with that, Whumper pushed the knife past Whumpee’s skin, reaching the hilt before pulling it out in one smooth movement. Whumpee bit down on a moan at the all-too-familiar pain. Whumper had always been good with knives, knowing just where to cut to ensure Whumpee would not bleed out too quickly. In the past, Whumper would wait until Whumpee was right on the cusp of death before administering medical aide. This time, however, there would be no treatment. This was to be Whumper’s final victory.

Whumper reached behind Whumpee and pulled several paper towels from the dispenser, pressing them against the slow spreading bloodstain on Whumpee’s shirt. Whumpee grasped at their wound with a gasp, allowing Whumper to step back and admire their work. Whumpee sagged, leaning heavily on the sink with their free arm. Their eyes were unfocused and their lip twitched as they attempted to reign in the pain.

Whumper grinned before turning towards the door, calling back over their shoulder, “see you in court.” With that, they were gone and Whumpee was left alone in the washroom. They took a few deep breaths and pushed off the sink, taking a step towards one of the stalls. Unfortunately, their leg failed them and they fell to one knee. Stifling a whimper, they climbed gracelessly back to their feet and stumbled into the stall, locking it behind them. Whumpee hung their jacket on the hook on the back of the door, careful to avoid getting any blood on it. They then unbuttoned their dress shirt with trembling fingers, sliding it off and setting it on the back of the toilet. Their undershirt was next, as they yanked it over their head haphazardly and pressed it to the wound, sopping up the blood that trickled steadily from it. The injury really didn’t look that bad, just a small slit that leaked more blood each time they moved. Still, by the cold tingling sensation that pervaded their body, Whumpee could tell it was bad. It would kill them if they didn’t get help. But to get help would be to condemn Caretaker to death in their stead.

The full force of this fact struck Whumpee all at once and they stared at the stall wall in stunned silence. They were going to die. This was it. They would hear the verdict, go home, and cease to exist. Somebody would find their body, probably Caretaker, and nobody would ever know the truth of what happened. It was that simple.

Strangely, Whumpee didn’t feel panic or fear as they might have thought they would. Instead, a strange sense of calm washed over them. They had only one job now, to walk back into that court room and act as if they were fine, then to go home and die.

With a firm resolve, Whumpee moved into action. They pulled a bunch of toilet paper out of the dispenser and bunched it into a makeshift bandage. Pressing it to their side, they tore off a relatively clean chunk of fabric from the shirt and pressed it over top. They pulled their belt out of its loops and re-fastened it to hold the makeshift wound dressing in place. Opening the door to their stall and peeking out carefully to ensure no one had entered the washroom, Whumpee limped over to the sinks and hurriedly washed the blood from their hands. Returning to the stall, they pulled their shirt and jacket back on, buttoning up the latter to hide the bloodstain and wincing constantly as their wound sent jolts of pain through their torso. As they emerged from the stall, Whumpee took one last look at themself in the mirror. Having ensured there was no blood visible and smoothes out their hair, they walked confidently from the room.

As they traced their path back to the courtroom, Whumpee’s eyes flirted to the face of each person they passed. They kept expecting someone to say something, but nobody seemed to notice anything was wrong. Anything unusual about their appearance or comportment was seemingly dismissed as a result of stress from the upcoming verdict. By the time they reached the courtroom, Whumpee was just glad they would be able to sit down. They slid between groups of people, making their way to their seat. Caretaker glanced up upon their return and took note of how pale Whumpee’s face was. Their brow furrowed in concern.

As Whumpee sat down beside them, Caretaker turned to consider them more fully. “Are you okay?” They asked quietly.

Whumpee nodded, not meeting their eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Caretaker pursed their lips. “You don’t look fine.”

Whumpee heaved a sigh. “I will be fine, alright? I just want to get this over with.” They watched Caretaker’s face in their peripheral vision. Caretaker clearly wanted to say something, but instead bit their tongue and turned back towards the front of the room in silence. Relief flooded through Whumpee, and they turned their attention to the task of surreptitiously positioning their arms so they could put pressure on their wound without looking suspicious.

They waited for another 5 minutes before the judge emerged from their chamber and called for everyone to be seated. The rest of the process was a total haze for Whumpee. The jury representative stood up and read the verdict. Guilty. There were various murmurs and several sighs of relief from the crowd. Whumper wore a cold, angry look when they stood up to be led from the courtroom, but it turned to one of satisfaction as soon as they turned back to see Whumpee staring at them. People in the crowd began filing out of the courtroom while Whumpee sat stonily, stealing themself for the pain that awaited them when they stood up.

A warm hand touched their elbow, and they turned to see Caretaker eyeing them nervously. “You good?”

“Yep,” Whumpee replied casually. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll be out in a bit.”

Caretaker’s eyes narrowed. “I really don’t think you should be alone right now.”

Whumpee made a show of rolling their eyes. “Whatever.” Giving it all they had, they went to stand up. They actually made it to their feet with relative ease, but then their vision went to static and they stumbled to the side. Caretaker caught them under their arm and Whumpee was vaguely aware of their voice asking what was wrong. After waiting for their vision to clear, Whumpee pulled their arm from Caretaker’s grasp and responded. “I’m alright, just stood up too fast. I just need to have dinner and get some sleep. I’ll be fine.”

Caretaker looked at them incredulously. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, now go,” Whumpee responded, gesturing towards the door.

Caretaker reluctantly turned and headed down the aisle. They made it only 5 steps before they heard a loud thump behind them and turned back to find Whumpee kneeling down, arm slung over the back of the next row of benches for support.

Caretaker moved quickly, grabbing Whumpee around the chest to heave them off the ground. As they did so, however, Whumpee let out a cry of pain and clutched their hand to their abdomen. Eyes growing wide, Caretaker lowered Whumpee onto the bench. Without waiting, they unbuttoned Whumpee’s jacket to reveal a large bloodstain that covered nearly half their torso.

“Oh my god,” Caretaker muttered before yelling in the direction of the door. “We need medical help in here!” Several people ran into the room to see what was happening, then there was shouting as they went to get others.

Caretaker pulled Whumpee’s shirt out of their pants and peeled the bloodied rag and tissue away to reveal the knife wound. Caretaker’s heart was racing as they yanked their own jacket off and pressed it against the injury, eliciting a moan from Whumpee.

“Who did this?” Caretaker asked. When they heard no answer they looked up to see Whumpee staring at them with a tear streaked face.

“They’re going to kill you,” Whumpee choked out brokenly.

Realization fell over Caretaker’s face and they shook their head. One of the courthouse guards ran into the room with a large first aid kit and Caretaker stood aside to let him help Whumpee.

Whumpee soon lost all sense of the world around them and slipped into unconsciousness.

• • •

Whumpee awoke to a beeping sound which was oddly calming thanks to its consistency. The bed underneath them was firm, but their body felt like it was floating. Upon opening their eyes they were met with a dark room lit only by the soft glow of a reading lamp in the corner of the room. Under the lamp was a large armchair in which Caretaker sat, eyes scanning the pages of a book.

Whumpee wetted their lips with their tongue before speaking. “Watchya reading?”

Caretaker nearly jumped out of their skin at the unexpected sound. “Whumpee,” they spoke as a stunned exhale before crossing the room to stand at the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine actually,” Whumpee responded, pushing themself upon their elbows with a wince. “Okay, a little sore, but I’ll be fine.”

Caretaker nodded. “Well, since you’re fine I can tell you that you’re an absolute idiot.”

“If I’d have known what a warm welcome I’d receive them I would have woke up ages ago,” Whumpee said sarcastically.

“I’m not joking,” Caretaker said seriously. “You almost died, and for what?”

Whumpee fiddled with a loose thread on the blanket that covered them. “Whumper told me not to tell anyone.”

“And you listened to them why?”

“They threatened to kill you.”

“So you were just going to, what, die?” Caretaker said it half-jokingly, but Whumpee met their eyes with a look so sincere that their face grew serious. “Really?” Caretaker whispered.

Whumpee shrugged a shoulder sheepishly. “I wasn’t going to condemn you to death.”

Caretaker shifted awkwardly, looking away before changing the subject. “Well, you wouldn’t have anyway. The cops already knew Whumper was planning on killing me, they had a spy in their ranks. While we were in court the police raided their entire organization and arrested nearly every member, toppling their chain of command. Whumper no longer has any power.”

Whumpee thought this over for a moment. “What about the guards and their families?”

“The guards were arrested too once the police figured out what happened. Their families are fine, Whumper has no one to carry out their orders so there is no threat.”

Whumpee nodded. Then, they realized something. “Wait a minute, you knew Whumper was planning to kill you and you didn’t tell me?”

Caretaker sighed, rubbing a hand over their neck. “I didn’t want to put you under any more stress.”

“Jesus Christ,” Whumpee muttered.

“Yeah, well, I guess we can call it even.”

Whumpee gave them a sheepish smile. “I guess so.”

• • •

Fin

#whump #whump writing #whump scenario #whump vignette #hidden injury #stabbing whump #knife whump #whumpee #caretaker #whumper #whump scene #whump dialogue

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