Whumpee drifting in and out of consciousness, back and forth, over and over. Sensing that Caretaker is waiting by their side, wanting to wake up and stay alert for a proper reunion, but their exhausted mind and body just keep dragging them back down.
Whumpee drifting in and out of consciousness, back and forth, over and over. Sensing that Caretaker is waiting by their side, wanting to wake up and stay alert for a proper reunion, but their exhausted mind and body just keep dragging them back down.
Whumpee drifting in and out of consciousness, back and forth, over and over. Sensing that Caretaker is waiting by their side, wanting to wake up and stay alert for a proper reunion, but their exhausted mind and body just keep dragging them back down.
Sizhui hadn’t always known what they meant — the torn flower petals drenched in blood that fell from his father’s lips every now and again. At some point, they’d become normal. He’d forgotten that not everyone’s father was slowly dying from heartbreak. [ ao3/masterlist]
CW: Stockholm syndrome(?), knife, blood, vague threats, death, disease, dehumanization
Shea knelt by his master’s bedside, not daring to lift his eyes even now. Likewise, Nicholas sat in a chair by his father’s bedside, although his attitude was far from reverence.
“Well, Father, I suppose this is it for you, then? Finally done fighting fate after all these years?”
Master Wilson did not answer— could not answer. The disease had taken its course and there was nothing to be done now. The man had fought his end for days now, but… something was different today. Shea could sense it. The man had mere hours left. Of that, Shea was certain.
Shea said nothing, even as Nicholas continued to speak ill to his father. Eventually, the master’s son grew bored of this and stood, making his way to Shea. Shea did not stir— did not make a sound as Nicholas tangled his fingers in Shea’s hair and pulled hard.
“Look at him. Fucking pathetic. You two are just right together.” Nicholas spat.
Shea closed his eyes as Nicholas tried to force him to look at Master Wilson. It was not his place. It was disrespect. He would not disgrace the dying.
When Nicholas released his hair, Shea let his gaze fall back to the ground. A moment later, the door slammed as Nicholas walked out.
“Shea…”
The sound of his master’s voice made Shea jump.
“Sir?” He lifted his eyes a little, as he often did when spoken to.
“There’s not… much time left for me…” Master Wilson gave a slight cough. “Before… before I go, I wanted to tell you… to tell you that you’ve been better to me… than my own son…”
Shea’s heart stopped in his chest for a moment as his eyes widened. “S-sir— I’m only an embellishment on your already perfect life— su-surely you don’t mean to speak so highly of me.”
“Don’t… interrupt a dying man’s last words…”
Shea brought his eyes back to the ground, shame sweeping through him.
“If only… if only you had been human… I would have adopted you as my own and… bestowed upon you glory and gifts as on no one else…”
Shea felt faint. He dared not interrupt again, yet he couldn’t help but feel an immense weight of guilt for even listening to these words. Surely his master would never have said these things were he in his right mind. His last words should have been a benediction to his son— not praise to someone as unworthy as he.
“You… you have been good to me… I only wish… that I could do more for your we-wellbeing after my passing… You know you shall pass into the care of my son, yes?”
“Yes, sir.” Shea said softly.
“I am sorry…” And Shea’s master spoke no more.
Shea sat by his master’s bedside for several hours yet until Master Wilson finally passed. When it finally happened, Shea rose silently and left the room.
“M-master Nicholas—” Shea let his gaze fall to the ground again, surprised to see Nicholas leaning on the wall outside Master Wilson’s room. Before he had looked away, Shea saw that he held a knife, turning it over and over in his hands.
“Well?” Nicholas asked. “I assume my father finallydied?”
“Sir, your father was a good man. I am sorry for your loss…” Shea’s voice was even softer than usual as he said this.
In a moment, Shea gasped as he was shoved against a wall, Nicholas’s knife at his throat. He turned his face aside so as to not meet the eyes of his new master.
“That isn’t what I asked.” Nicholas hissed.
Shea didn’t attempt to make another answer.
“Look at me.”
When Shea didn’t react right away, Nicholas pressed the knife closer against Shea’s skin.
“Damn you, I said look at me!”
Shea whimpered softly, turning his face to look up at Nicholas.
“Look me in the eye you fucking coward.”
Shea obeyed, finding it difficult to hold Nicholas’s stare.
“Now. Is my father dead yet? I want you to say it. Properly.”
“Y-yes, sir. Master Wilson pa-passed away.”
“No. I want you to say ‘your father is dead’. Stop using euphemisms. Just say it.”
“Y-your… your father is dead.”
Nicholas glared, pressing the tip of the knife against Shea’s neck just hard enough to draw blood before pulling back and letting Shea go. Immediately, Shea brought his gaze back to the ground.
Nicholas turned to walk down the hall. “And I heard what my father said to you after I left.”
She felt his face pale and his blood run cold. “I-it shouldn’t have been said…” He whispered.
Nicholas laughed as he walked away. “Why not? Every word of it was true. He used it against me every chance he got. The old man never stop singing your praises.”
Pics are Shea and Nicholas from this Picrew. I edited Sheas picture and added wings because they didn’t have them as an option.
The darkness swallowed the room whole, seeping away at their warmth and hope until nothing was left within Caretaker but cold, dark fear.
The soft glow of the nightlight barely seemed to make a difference, illuminating a small circle of wall and floor around it, but nothing more.
The curtains were drawn tight over the shut window, yet the cold somehow still managed to slip in, chilling Caretaker to their bones.
With a shiver, they leaves forwards, grabbing the folded blanket off the foot of the bed and fanning it over Whumpee’s unconscious form.
If they were cold, Whumpee had to be freezing…
For a moment, caretaker paused, squinting through the darkness as they tried to make out the bruised features of their friend, but all they could see were layers of shadows upon a canvas of darkness.
With a sigh, they slumped forwards, arms falling to rest against the mattress as their head dropped.
They were nearing the three day mark. Three days since they had rescued Whumpee from that horrible, horrible place. Three days and they hadn’t woken up.
Caretaker wasn’t entirely sure when they had begun to drift off, but the next thing they knew they were jolting awake to a light knock on the door.
“Caretaker?” A soft voice called through the wood, as the knob jiggled and the door slowly swung open. “I brought you some food…”
“Thanks, Friend,” Caretaker sighed, wincing as they say up straight, their back cracking. They blinked a few times, clumsily rubbing the sleep from their eyes.
“Of course,” Friend smiled sadly, propping open the door with their foot as they stepped inside, flicking on the light with them. “Any change?”
Caretaker let out a small groan, squeezing their eyes shut against the sudden exposure.
They took a moment to adjust to the light, their eyes bloodshot and cloudy as they glanced over to Whumpee’s abused face, looking exactly the same as it had all those hours prior.
“Still asleep,” Caretaker mumbled, heart twisting as they smoothed the blankets over Whumpee’s chest.
