Whump Prompt

“What’s wrong with them?” Caretaker looked over Whumpee, concern lacing their voice and etching their features. Whumpee wasn’t a baby or anything, but they looked so tiny. So fragile, laid down on the couch.

Their eyelids drooped down, their pupils were blown wide as hell and a sheen of sweat glistened on their skin. They mumbled and couldn’t seem to focus to anything–or anyone, for that matter. They kept flinching and shaking.

Caretaker looked back at Antihero and repeated the question. They leaned back against the floral wallpaper, arms folded, expression unreadable. “Hey,” Caretaker said for a third time. “What the hell is wrong with them? Did you do this?”

“Like I said, I found them like that. They showed up at my door, high out of their mind with yourname and number written on their arm. They begged me not to call the cops; I didn’t really want to play twenty-one questions with the police and so I figured I’d call you.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure. They didn’t do this to themselves.”

Antihero scoffed. “Yeah, alright.”