fallenwhumpee

[fallenwhumpee]

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• Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Masterlist •

Warnings: Dehumanisation, dissociation, memory gap, panicking, platonic cuddles.

Leader floated.

That was the only word their disjointed mind could attach to the feeling. Not quite flying. No, they had no control. Just drifting, pulled by something too strong to resist. Detached from their body. Above it, maybe. Below it. Nothing made sense. They remembered the explosion. They remembered the bomb going off just a few steps before them.

Voices scraped along the edges of awareness. Cold and sharp, hurting their ears. They remembered...

The team. The team was close. No. Leader couldn't—

“Too unstable. Even with the overrides, it's decaying.”

“We’ve invested too much. We either salvage or start over from scratch.”

“You say that as if there’s anything left to salvage.”

“It's still capable. And I can't extract experience as data. We have to try.”

The shadows loomed closer. The voice above grew muffled.  Leader was malfunctioning. They could barely make out the shape of the shadows, masks big enough to hide features. But Leader couldn't care. The team had been on the mission with them.

But Leader had sent them away. Yes. Leader did. Their team was safe. Their purpose was done.

More voices came.

"Vitals dropping. What's wrong?"

"We can't put them into circulation tank. They're too disfigured."

"We just need to keep them breathing."

“This one was  never meant to heal, only to endure. Hardware is faulty, but we need it functioning again, or we won't have the other subjects' obedience.”

-•-

Leader gasped.

The ceiling above them wasn’t surgical white . It was warped wooden beams, too close together. The weight on their chest wasn’t panic. It was their own body. Too heavy. Too stiff. Everything pulsed. No. Everything throbbed. Their head hurt, a dull pain behind their eyes, and when they tried to move, the aches blinded them.

For a moment, they didn’t remember where they were.

They remembered rain, rain and Right Hand's voice. Something heavy and warm around their shoulders.

They would flinch when they heard movement if their body wasn't so heavy. Then they heard again. A chair was being scraped back. There was someone else.

Leader blinked until their eyes burned.

Youngest.

Sitting cross-legged on the chair with a half-empty plate in their lap, Youngest was flipping through a paperback, absently chewing on a biscuit as if nothing in the world was wrong.

It took too long for Leader to place the wrongness.

Youngest was always the loudest to worry. The first to cry. The one who held Leader’s sleeve after every mission like a lifeline. Because they grew up with many layers of protection between them and the facility. They were almost untouched if modifications before decantinf didn't count.This uncharacteristic stillness was just so loud that Leader could hear it ringing. Youngest was supposed to be on their side, asking what happened with teary eyes like every time someone from the team got hurt.

Leader swallowed. It scraped down like glass.

"...Youngest?" they croaked. Their voice barely passed their own lips. They tried again, louder. “Youngest.”

The younger soldier didn’t look up immediately. Just flipped a page.

“I was wondering when you’d wake,” they said eventually, tone flat.

Leader blinked, trying to shake the haze from their eyes. Why was Youngest so cold? “Where’s… Right Hand?”

“Sleeping. Unlike some people, they rest when they should.”

Leader tried to sit up, but the pain flared fast. Their arms trembled under their weight. The room tilted. They felt too warm and too weak, slumping to the couch as they tried to keep their eyes open. They managed to stit up barely, half propped up. They rubbed their forehead. “You’re angry,” they said, more to themselves.

Youngest’s eyes met with theirs, cold. “What gave it away?”

“I thought... Right Hand must’ve explained,” Leader rasped. “About the booster. The pain. Why I—why I collapsed. I... don't understand.”

“They did,” Youngest said, snapping the book shut. “But I’m not mad about that.”

Leader was confused. They reached to pressure their head, their headache getting worse. This all felt just wrong, but they didn't understand what the problem was. Their thoughts were slipping sideways. “Then…?” 

“You left us.”

What?

Youngest leaned forward, brows furrowing. “You ran, Leader. You were gone. Do you even remember that?”

“I didn’t—”

“Do you?” Youngest pressed, jaw clenched.

“I was… discharged. I got on the bus.” Leader's voice faltered. “I remember the seat. I remember... being there. But I—”

They paused. Their hand clenched the blanket. They were swaying, they realised. They couldn't  have done that. Because they remembered... they didn't remember.

No order. No packing. No goodbyes.

Just the bus and after it.

“I don’t…” Leader croaked.

Youngest’s expression twisted. Bitterness lined every word. “We thought something happened, Leader. You left and we waited and waited. No comms. Not a word. Nothing. Right Hand was ready to search the whole continent.”

Leader swayed again, eyes blinking too slow. Their stomach twisted. They couldn't have done that. It must have been a mistake.

But Leader didn't remember.

“I wouldn’t have left. I wouldn’t— I didn’t— I wouldn’t—” The words stumbled , falling out without their permission. They couldn't breathe. “I didn’t leave. I didn’t… I wouldn’t…”

Youngest stepped back, their face closing off.

Right Hand’s voice broke through their ringing ears. “Enough.”

Leader barely registered them stepping in. The sound of boots, the door creaking. But suddenly, Youngest was being pulled aside, and Right Hand was crouched beside the bed, fingers pressed to Leader’s wrist, counting the pulse.

“Interrogating them right now? Really?” Right Hand snapped, glaring at Youngest. “They barely woke up.”

“I just wanted to know why, Right Hand—”

“And you can ask later.”

Leader’s lips moved. They needed Right Handto knoe too. But they couldn't breathe. They clung to Right Hand keeping them up and tried.

“Didn’t leave. Didn’t leave. I wouldn’t. Not the team. Not—”

“Shh,” Right Hand whispered, cupping the side of their face. “I know.”

“I… don’t remember. I can’t—” Leader’s voice cracked. “I’d never leave. I wouldn't…”

“You didn’t,” Right Hand repeated. Firmer. Slower. “Something happened. That’s all. We’ll figure it out.”

Leader blinked rapidly, eyes unfocused. Their body trembled. Cold sweats did nothing to help them butning inside out.

“We’ll figure it out,” Right Hand said again, gentler this time. “But not now. I need tou to breathe. You can't break on me. Leader, we need you intact.”

Leader nodded, even if only not to worry Right Hand more. They were slowly set back down to the couch, Rigt Hand's cold hand pressed against thir cheek. Leader glanced Youngest just behind Rught Hand, face conflicted.

"They really didn?"

"How can you even think that? Right Hand almost snapped. "They did everything for us. I suggest you think. Not everyone is out to get you. Not your team, at least."

Youngest bowed their head.

"S okay," Leader breathed out. They just had to focus on breathing. They would mend. Whatever had happened.

"No," Right Hand scoffed. "It's not. But I know you hate arguing so I'll drop it. Youngest, please bring a cold compress."

With that, Youngest disappeared from the view.

"Close your eyes back."

Leader didn't argue. And it didn't take long for them to fall back asleep, only to be waken up with thunder. They lifted up their head to look, only to meet with Youngest curled up in their arms. They turned to the opposite way, and Right Hand was there, hugging them from behind. The fireplace was snuffed out, wind coming through the chimney making a mess with the ashes.

Right Hand stirred behind them. "Leader?" They murmured sleepily.

"Why are we all on the floor?" Leader asked, sinking as the arms wrapped around them tightened.

"You were too warm, and room too cold because we didn't want to risk carbon monoxide  poisoning."

"Mmm."

Anyway, it seemed to work. Leader wasn't feeling too warm anymore.

Leader closed their eyes back again, but a beeping sound didn't let them sleep. Right Hand got up with curses, coming back with a small rectangle device. It had a small screen with text passing, but Leader couldn't read it from their place.

"What is it?" Leader asked.

“Trail on Medic," Right Hand answered quietly.

Leader’s breath caught. "They'll have us on it, right?"

Right Hand slid back into the covers and  smoothed the blanket down. “They're going to send a boat to pick us up. Though I doubt they'll get here before a week..”

“A week,” Leader yawned.

Right Hand nodded. “So sleep. We’ll be ready by then.”

Leader didn’t answer. Their eyes were already slipping shut.

[fallenwhumpee]

Imagine Whumpee(personal favourite is leader whumpee for everything this one) having very tight schedule, be it missions or work. Or maybe just plot, you know. Normal stuff for a whumpee without a break. They are stretched thin, doing everything and putting effort for hours and missing sleep over sleep. They slowly get used to it, make a rhythm. They get the same day again and again with tasks slowly progressing. It maybe takes weeks. Maybe months. Then things get done. And whumpee is left with nothing to do.

Whumpee had begged for that to happen. Waited like a predator waiting for their prey. They made plans, lists of things postponed and too many "the first thing I'll do when i get this done is..." type of talks with everyome around. But when it actually happens, whumpee simply can't get out of the schedule they've built in desperation. Even without the alarm, they wake up after four hours of sleep with cold sweats and thinking that they need to do something. Laying on bed isn't making the time pass and makes them more restless. Their body is shutting down randomly, for fifteen minutes or fifteen hours, no inbetween because their body had decided it was the only way whumpee would rest, despite whumpee taking the day off to do that already. Nothing feels enjoyable with their drained body, their list thrown into the trash when whumpee realises they don't have the energy for any of it. Their enthusiasm gone, their body feeling like a burden they have to carry with them.

All whumpee can do is to wait for their body to make another schedule to break the one they've built to survive.

[fallenwhumpee]

.

Yes, I didn't delete that OC post. I sat on my hands and forced myself to look away. Just like the old writings, I can barely stand. It's hard. But leaving it without s follow up is also hard

Now, since I'm done with school and waiting for the exam result (yes, only two exams to determine what im studying. I am angry at the system for that. Im also angry for it being extremely hard and not at all what was taught to me— or students in general but this rant isn't about it and I need to stop thinking about things I can't change) I finally decided to make ocs to myself. Or at least name a few I have used through my one shots. Maybe even write a book's worth of story.

For the first time in ever, I have time for that. I have... too much time. Priority will be on the 11 asks in my inbox and the challenge I've started, but if anyone wants me to write or have asks, I'll be wasting most of my day on watching random things or doomscrolling to procsinate on writing. You can always give me better things to do. I think even a simple hello will be enough to pull me out of my blanket cave either in ask box or in dms.

And maybe I'll be more present on the blog. Like share what I've read. Share my favourite blorbos. Maybe one day I'll link my ao3 here. I have too many things I've delayed for the sake of studying that I don't even know what I can do, to be honest. This part depends on if anyone is interested because this blog is built over whump writing, and posting anything else feels like a crime.

I'm posting this at midnight again because I know if I leave this to morning I won't have the courage to give a life update and feel embarrassed for even thinking. Now I'll close my phone and go to sleep so I don't delete this.

Morale of the story: I'm hoping that I'm back and expect some posts on the blog.

[fallenwhumpee]

If I'm not wrong you have about 20 days, give or take for your big exam(s)! And I hope you do well! All the best! Make sure you hydrate and eat and treat yourself well!

🐈‍⬛💜

I actually have exactly 20 days left. Kinda freaking out about it, but well. I treat myself good. I don't want to be a whumpee, hahaha. Thank you for checking <3

[fallenwhumpee]

Favourite color: blue.

Last song: maNga: we could be the same

Currently reading: Oh well. I don't remeber. Been a long time since i had time. Either Tess Gerritsen - The apprentice or Dune: Machine Crusade.

Currently watching: Whatever is open on the TV when I drop dead to home.

Currently craving: Will to study for two more months.

Coffee or tea: None at the moment. Trying to get rid of every drink but water until I can trust myself not to overconsume said the pitch black coffee addict

@friendlesscat @leafywritingwhump @porschethemermaid @weirdthingweee

GET TO KNOW YOUR MUTUALS!

Rules: answer and tag six people you want to know better

Thanks for thinking of/tagging me @thoughtslikeaminefield It’s been a pleasure interacting with you the past couple of days ❤️

1. Favourite colour: Teal

2. Last song: Save Tonight - Eagle Eye Cherry

3. Currently reading: Outlander Series (technically it’s collecting dust on my bookshelf because I mostly read fanfic…)

4. Currently watching: Single’s Inferno, Medium, and forever casually rewatching SPN

5. Currently craving: the bag of sweet chilli & sour cream chips I bought earlier (just waiting for kiddos to go to bed)

6. Coffee or tea: coffee! An iced latte any season.

@losers-clvb @middleearthislife @my-stories-vault @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @jollyhunter

[fallenwhumpee]

Wishing you guys all the best on your exams!! I just had my first of this round this morning lmao and it certainly Went. Good luck to both of you and everyone else doing exams!!

:D

I hope yours went well, anon. Thank you for the well wishes, too <3

[fallenwhumpee]

Ahhhhh good luck on your exam! I am also prepping for college exams and honestly cant settle my mind down but i hope you do so well! And i cant believe Traitor gets another part! Bddjdbdh and I'll definitely check out "Wrong". I'll probably even do the ask game at some point!

🐈‍⬛💜

You know what? I did well on my mocks today. So you get a chapter. I know I have asks and I'm working but this had been sitting on my drafts for months

Traitor

• Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Masterlist •

Warnings: Hospital settings.

Leader was tired.

Not just in the way that made their limbs heavy and their thoughts slow. And not the way that a good night’s rest could fix. No—this was a bone-deep exhaustion, one that settled into the cracks of their ribs. One that Leader feared would plague them like their breath.

They wanted all of this to stop.

But their body wouldn’t cooperate. Each time they tried to open their eyes, the light was too sharp. Their body was sluggish, refusing to move properly, and weighed down by something more than just weakness. Leader knew the feeling well. Sedatives. Again. Another thing to get mad about.

They felt their body move every now and then, cold being pressed to their skin or their arm being squeezed. They heard words but didn't understand. Every time they tried to focus, pain dragged them back to the darkness. Their body ached, but their mind was louder. Screaming at them to move, to wake up, to do something other than laying still, broken.

Leader forced their eyes open, the dim lights above stabbing into their skull. A sharp inhale sent fire through their ribs, and they barely swallowed down the groan threatening to escape. They closed their eyes back. Their hands twitched at their sides, fingers curling against stiff sheets. The weight over their face was suffocating.

They wanted to get out.

“Leader?” A hand pressed lightly to their forehead, pushing damp hair back. The touch should have been comforting, but instead, it made their skin crawl. They grabbed the sheet tighter to still themselves.

Mentor was beside them.

“They’re stirring,” Right Hand murmured. “That’s good, right?”

Leader didn’t hear the response, only the low hum of conversation above them. The concern in Right Hand’s voice was all wrong. The voice was too close, too intimate. Right Hand had ignored them, pushed them aside. And now, after everything, they were suddenly concerned? The shift was too abrupt, forced. Leader didn’t want it. They didn’t want Mentor’s guilt, Right Hand’s regret, the doctors hovering over them like as if they were fragile.

At a point, they felt more in control. Setative was wearing off, possibly with painkillers. Their body screamed at them to stay down, but Leader had spent too long listening to pain. They shoved themselves up, arms shaking under the effort. The world tilted dangerously, and a hand caught their shoulder.

“Stop.” Mentor caught them. Were they that close? Leader was in worse shape than they thought of they lost track of their surroundings.

“I’m awake,” they rasped, more to themselves. They trembled even with the support but managed to stay upright.

“And barely alive,” Mentor muttered.

Right Hand shifted closer, hesitating before reaching for them. Leader flinched before they could stop themselves, and Right Hand’s hand stilled. Good. Leader had enough without worrying that they couldn't hide their reactions.

“You shouldn’t be moving yet,” Right Hand said quietly, embarrassed. “You’re still recovering.”

Leader didn't answer. They wouldn't lash out if they didn't talk.

Their control was slipping.

They had let people too close, let things go too far, and now everything was spiralling. The emotions—the anger, the hurt, the exhaustion—were crawling onto them, and they hated every moment of it.

It had to stop.

Mentor laid them back down and luckily didn't talk. An uncomfortable silence took over for a while, but Leader ignored the glances. They had to conserve some strength.

A doctor entered, checking over them with a clinical efficiency that made a welcome distinction between them and… Doctor. Leader barely registered the words of the doctor, however. Leader was fine enough if asked. They just nodded along to shut them up, to make them all go away.

They had to get out of here.

Because Leader’s skin prickled under Mentor’s fabricated concern, under Right Hand’s hovering presence. This was all wrong. Both of them had left Leader alone, and now they were acting as if they cared.

But Leader didn't need to of up with this. If they could just make it through the next few hours, they could disappear.

Somewhere no one would follow.

Somewhere they didn’t have to hear concern in the voices of people who hadn’t cared before. Who wasn't supposed to care.

Somewhere they could just breathe.

So Leader waited.

They kept their breaths steady and kept their body still. The fever made time blur together, but eventually, the room quieted. The doctor left. Right Hand slumped in the chair beside their bed, dozing off. Even Mentor had stepped out.

Leader clenched their teeth and moved.

Their lungs screamed them with every breath as they ripped the mask, their body failing to stay upright, but they didn’t stop. They ignored the ache in their ribs, the trembling in their limbs. Pain wasn’t important. Getting out was. For their own sanity.

They ripped the IV from their arm in one quick motion. Blood welled up from the puncture site, but they ignored it, pressing the sheets against it to keep it from dripping.

One step at a time. They could do this.

They grabbed their discarded jacket, pulled it on with shaking fingers. Their boots—no, too loud. Socks would have to do until they got far. The room was dim. The halls outside were quiet. Leader slipped out the door, silent as a ghost. They didn’t look back.

-•-

After everything, Right Hand was lost. Their trust was shaken, how could it not be? The images of two figures they looked up to were now just shattered. Mentor, who had been a legend themselves and who just trained the most skilful agent the agency ever had, now seemed like an excuse of a trainer.

The more time Right Hand spent with them, more inconsistencies showed up. One would think people would be eager to know how to make their ward feel better, but no. All Mentor knew was what Leader was capable of powering through. It said nothing to Right Hand about why Leader avoided interactions like a plague, why they were so easy to be separated, or even antagonised.

But it wasn't the only realisation. Right Hand still couldn’t believe that Leader was the star agent. The one who had a flawless file of impossible missions, who was supposed to be ruthless and clinical with no room for drama. But Leader took too many hits in missions. They had to improvise too many times just to fit the team's never-ending demands, even if it pained them. Nothing really went well with the team. But it was all about the team. They pushed Leader to absorb the damage. They pushed Leader to cover up their back with lies and spontaneous plans.

And Leader paid for it in silence.

Right Hand didn't have the heart to go back home. They told the team they had things to take care of, but that was a lie. They just couldn't leave Leader alone. Not again. Not when they had already been so late.

Staying vigil at Leader's side, Right Hand couldn’t sleep. Doctors had given Leader sedatives to keep them still, to keep them from wasting what little strength they had left. Leader not waking up for a while was expected, but the stillness in that hospital bed still weighted on Right Hand. When Leader did stir—barely rasping out words, trembling but upright and not lasting long as doctors ran a checkup—Right Hand’s body finally gave in, shutting down from exhaustion like a snapped wire.

They hadn't even realized they’d fallen asleep.

The soft click of a door echoed in Right Hand’s head, but it didn't register as real at first. The strange quiet. No monitors, no shuffling footsteps. Just cold silence.

And something was wrong.

Right Hand jerked upright, blinking away the heaviness from their eyes. The chair creaked beneath them as they sat up straighter. Their gaze went immediately to the bed—and froze.

It was empty.

The sheets were a mess, thrown aside and tinged with red where the IV line was left. The oxygen mask lay on the floor. The room was cold.

Leader was gone.

“No,” Right Hand whispered, already rising. They rubbed their eyes and their legs stumbled beneath them, the adrenaline cutting through sleep's haze too fast. “No, no, no…”

They turned to the door, yanked it open, and looked both ways down the hallway. Empty.

They were too late again.

Right Hand gripped the edge of the doorway, heart pounding loud in their ears. They should have seen this coming. But at the same time, they couldn't understand. They couldn't understand how. How had Leader managed to slip away? They had barely been able to straigten up, let alone escape. But they had. And now, Right Hand was wasting time standing here instead of finding them.

They turned on their heel, nearly knocking over a tray of medical supplies in their rush. The infirmary halls were quiet except a humming. Right Hand checked the exits first, then the side corridors. Nothing.

The panic started to creep back in. Leader couldn’t have just disappeared. Someone had to know something.

Mentor.

Right Hand stormed through the halls, barely registering the startled glances from people passing by. When they reached Mentor next to the main door, they didn't bother with greetings.

"They’re gone," Right Hand snapped. "Did you know this was going to happen?"

Mentor exhaled slowly, setting their papers aside. "I expected."

Right Hand’s hands clenched at their sides. "And you didn’t think to tell me? To stop them? They’re hurt! They can barely stand!"

Mentor met their glare with an infuriating calm. "Would you be able to stop them?"

Right Hand opened their mouth, but no words came out. The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? Leader had always been like this. If they wanted out, they would find a way, no matter what. But that didn’t mean Right Hand had to accept it.

"It doesn’t matter if I could’ve stopped them," they said through gritted teeth. "What matters is that they’re out there, alone, and hurt."

Mentor leaned back in their chair. "You’re worried."

"Of course I’m worried!" Right Hand snapped, then forced themself to take a steadying breath. "Aren’t you? Or are you just going to sit here and let them disappear?"

Mentor’s gaze was unreadable. "I never said I’d let them go. But I taught them how to survive."

Right Hand narrowed their eyes. "They learned to survive you," Right Hand spat. They had wasted enough time already. If Mentor wasn’t going to act, then Right Hand would. They stormed out. Their pulse thundered in their ears, their thoughts racing ahead.

They had to find Leader before it was too late.

[fallenwhumpee]

Heyyy. Its been a while since I've been on here. How are ya? And i have missed reading your stuff, been really budy as of late. Hope you're bring kind to yourself and hydrating!

~🐈‍⬛💜

Missed you too, dear anon <3

I'm okay! Just busier than expected. Writing is a second focus nowadays since there's 50ish days left to one big exam that'll hopefully get me into college but I've written some in your absence if you want to take a look!

Also, taking this ask as an opportunity to say that I'm working on the asks from the ask game. Nothing is abandoned. Just postponed a little.

[fallenwhumpee]

Me, finally starting to enjoy what i write as i slam a hammer to my self-sabotaging thoughts: oh well. I guess I'm good at writing.

Random stranger: *likes an old writing*

Me: If this is what I wrote, I'll do a service to everyone's eyes and never write again.

[fallenwhumpee]

*strolling up to a counter* Hii, may I please have a 1,2,7/8,6,1/23/25/13 and 4/9? :D

Whumpee: 1 - Leader (couldn't stop myself, I love leader whump too much haha-)

Caretaker: 2 - Right hand

Whumper: oh, what if it's a combination of 8 - mentor and 7 - villain? :O

Dynamics: 6 - team

Tropes: 1 -self sacrifice, 23 - rescue. 25 - buried alive (maybe even 13 - left for the dead, if it works? :O)

Dialouge: 6 -"I can't walk", 9 - "You're still alive"

Thank you very much for making this and I hope I'm not going too crazy, haha (*>w<) Absolutely feel free to get rid of some parts or add additional ones, and not writing this if the inspiration doesn'tcome is completely oke too. :D I think the most important part is that you enjoy the proccess as much as possible ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

Have a wonderful day, virtual hugs and a cookie 💕🍪～(´∀｀～)

Hiii! Glad to see you here hehehe. Turned buried alive to stuck in an underground bunker. Enjoy!

Warnings: Knife, starvation, restrains, delirium(?) -> from this ask game <-

Leader was out of breath. They couldn't run anymore. they were cornered. They hated themselves for not seeing the trap. But how one even prepared for this? To be completely understood by the enemy in tactics and mind?

They stopped absurdly, watching the team from behind. Whumper had figured Leader out, so be it. But there was no way they could understand what Leader would do for their team.

Right Hand noticed first. Of course they did. Leader taught them well. Taught them how to lead. How to protect. To see when sacrifice was needed for survival. And at that moment, all Leader could do was smile bitterly.

I'm so sorry for burdening you so early, they mouthed, before locking the metal door through the alarm. Tech had spent ages to disable it from far, but it was so easy from inside. Leader didn't turn back as Whumper's forces got to the room from the remaining entrance.

"I won't let you get them," they stated. Leader wouldn't lose. Because their goal wasn't their own survival. It was to keep their team alive.

"I never wanted them. They were only obstacles between you and me," Whumper chirped. A shiver ran down Leader's spine, and for the first time in their life, they felt afraid for themselves. The team is safe, they tried to assure themselves. They can't truly hurt me.

Slowly, Leader turned back. There were guns pointed at them, all in safe distances. Leader wasn't fast enough to take on these much armed men out. "If I knew you wanted me that bad, I'd bring you flowers. I'm rather bare at the moment."

Whumper laughed. Not the loud, gloating kind Leader had expected. Quieter. Sincere. Like they were sharing a joke only the two of them understood. But Leader didn't. There were only misunderstandings with someone beyond reqsoning.

“You always were funny when you were terrified.”

Leader didn’t flinch. Even as cold sweat traced down their spine, even as their lungs still burned from the run, they kept their stance casual. They wouldn't fall for such bait. They had to save strength.

“I’m not terrified,” Leader simply said. And perhaps it was that simple. Leader wasn't terrified. Leader had insurance. The agency had a whole will to go over if Leader couldn't find a way out of this hell. The team was in good hands.

Whumper stepped closer. The armed soldiers didn’t move—because they didn’t need to. They were just the net. Whumper was the spider.

“No,” Whumper agreed, tilting their head. “Not yet.”

Leader’s jaw tightened.

“It was a good move,” Whumper went on, gesturing lazily to the locked door behind them. “A little dramatic. But you always were the noble one. I wonder—did they even see you do it? Or will they turn around and just… find you gone?”

Leader didn’t answer.

Whumper stepped closer. They were inside striking distance now, and Leader didn’t move. They couldn’t. Not with so many rifles trained on them. Not when Whumper was baiting them into making the first move.

“I know you, you know,” Whumper said, almost softly. “I know what you fear. What you hide. You didn’t just seal that door to protect them. You sealed it because if you saw the look on their faces - if you saw how much it would break them - you’d hesitate.”

Leader’s throat bobbed. “Stop pretending you understand me.”

“But I do.” Whumper smiled, and it didn’t touch their eyes. “You think you're the one who made your team strong? That you've trained them well enough to keep going? Maybe. But they’ll unravel faster than you think without you. And you know it.”

Leader’s fists clenched. “If you want to kill me, just do it.”

“Oh no,” Whumper murmured. “I want you to fight for your own life for once. No  noble sacrifices. No plans. Just you and your will to live.”

And then, without warning, something struck Leader across the head—sharp, hard, and fast.

The world tilted. Leader stumbled, a fist flying over their head. And then they fought. They fought and bled and they tried, more and more people lunging at them and it hurt. Yet they kept fighting because they couldn't surrender. It simply wasn't their nature. They fought for what felt like hours, their body slowly breaking and their limbs aching with backlash. At the end, someone must have gotten bored because Leader froze with a knife to their gut.

They fell.

Whumper taunted. Leader didn't - couldn't -  listen. And Whumper got bored finally, leaving Leader there to die by themselves. The last thing they heard before the blackness swallowed them whole was a shadow's voice, soft and pleased:

“You're coming with me.”

-•-

Leader didn't expect to open their eyes again, but they were glad to be proven wrong. Being alive was cold. Their wrists burned from strain and metal restraints, their body sluggish.

Wait, metal restrains?

It took Leader's whole strength to stay stay still, not panic. They were left to die. Did Whumper change their mind? They didn't remember.

Calming themselves as best as they can, Leader tried to understand. They were underground. That much they could tell by the dampness in the air, the silence, the faint scent of old stone and rot. There was no sound of life. Just the dull, echoing drip of water from somewhere, a hum of a generator, maybe

Then came the voice.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

“Well,” said the Villain, calm and amused. “Still alive. Just barely.”

Leader opened their eyes. The world swam, but the face hovering above them sharpened slowly into clarity.

Their former mentor.

“You,” Leader hissed, hate rising like bile.

“Me,” Villain agreed, crouching in front of them, brushing dirt from their shoulder with a touch that made Leader want to flinch. “Dragged you out before your end. You should be grateful.”

“You’re working together now?” At least that would explain why Leader was outsmarted.

A short laugh. “Hardly. I just hate letting people waste potential. Especially mine.”

Leader spat at their feet. “I’m not yours. Not anymore.”

Villain’s eyes cooled. “Still stubborn, then. Good. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Leader didn’t respond. They didn’t need to. Villain already knew. Just like Whumper. Everyone who ever claimed to understand them did the same thing: they underestimated the line Leader wouldn’t cross just because it would hurt their team.

“You’ll betray them eventually,” Villain said, standing. “When it’s just you. When it’s quiet. When your ribs ache and your mouth is dry and your mind starts to go soft with starvation. You’ll see how little your nobility means. Shout when you change your mind.”

Leader didn’t look at them. Didn’t blink.

So Villain sighed and turned to go.

“Oh, and don’t worry,” they added as a ladder was thrown down. “There’s enough air to last you a while. I’m very precise. I want you to feel the moment you regret everything.”

And with that, they heard metal clang and a valve close.

Darkness swallowed Leader whole.

But they didn’t scream. Didn’t cry.

They closed their eyes.

And breathed.

The team was alive.

That was enough. So they didn't try to check concrete walls like coffin. They didn't try the sealed door. The dark didn’t frighten Leader.

At first.

They had trained for worse. Deprivation drills, isolation chambers, and days without food. It was gifts Villain left Leader with when they were still at agency. They had starved for three days straight in the northern frost during winter. This was nothing.

So they waited. They kept count—of breaths, of heartbeats, of the tiny noises the earth made as it settled around them. The drip of the leak. The faint hum of the generator upstairs that faltered once, then resumed. They watched the dark with open eyes, blinking only when their eyes burned. Watched it as though something would change.

It started with the ache. Deep in the belly, then up through the ribs. A hollowing pain, sharp and raw, that quickly became familiar. At first, Leader tracked time through it. Guessed how much must have passed. They’d breathe through it, shift positions, press hands to their abdomen like that could fool the body into thinking something was there. But nothing ever came. And it hurt. Leader only then remembered the knife.  Their dirty shirt was soaked— by what, they couldn't tell. They could only hope it was blood and nothing else.

Eventually, the ache turned to nausea. Then numbness. Then fire again. It circled too often, too rarely. They couldn't grasp the time. But Leader didn't scream. That was important. They couldn’t scream or beg. Not because no one would hear them—but because it would mean giving the dark something. It would mean feeding it with fear, letting it grow teeth.

Water came once. Maybe twice. A slosh from a pipe above, dripping into a bowl they hadn’t noticed before. They drank. First, greedily. Then slowly. Then not at all, because their stomach hurt too much. Hunger was sharper than thirst. It crawled up from the gut, gnawed at the spine, the ribs, the base of the skull. It wasn’t pain anymore. Just… pressure. Then dullness. Then nothing.

Hallucinations came after a lifetime.

At first it was voices—Right Hand calling out, confused. Tech arguing, asking for coordinates. Laughter. Gunfire. They saw light that wasn’t there, shapes flickering in the edges of their eyes. Sometimes they heard the door unlock. It never did. They dreamed, too, but there was no difference between dreams and waking and hallucinating. In one moment, they were holding the team together, barking orders. In the next, they were curled on their side on rough stone, cradling a memory that couldn’t keep them warm.

They stopped moving.

It hurt too much. The muscles refused. Bones ached from pressure and cold and stillness. The restraint around their wrist was forgotten, part of their flesh now. Hunger no longer clawed - it purred. A heavy thing curling up in their gut, whispering that it would all be over soon.

Leader didn’t resist it.

There was no fight to win. Only silence.

Sometimes Leader forgot which way was up until their skull hit stone again. They knew they passed out, because they’d wake in new positions, mouth dry, heart skipping beats like it was confused to still be working.

Sometimes, they thought they spoke. Maybe to Villain. Maybe to Whumper. Maybe to the team. They imagined apologizing. Explaining. Sometimes, just whispering names to remember them in order. They forgot their own once. It came back. Slow. Sticky. Like crawling through wet leaves. They didn't hear their own voice.

They laughed once. It sounded like choking.

Then came the smell of rot. They weren't sure if it came from the cell or their own body. Infection, maybe. The cuffs tore their wrists bloody after too many unconscious jerks.

The first time Villain returned, the light burned. A cold, yellow spill through the opened hatch above, and the ladder clattered down like laughter.

“You’re still alive,” Villain observed, devoid of any other emotion.

Leader didn't lift themselves from the floor. Their voice was foreign, low. “That disappoints you?”

“No,” Villain said lightly, crouching beside them, holding out food. “Still loyal?”

Leader didn’t speak. They only smelled their own blood anyway.

Villain smiled with just the edges of their mouth. “Suit yourself.”

Villain pulled back. They left a bruise that time. Fingers curling around Leader’s face with almost parental intent, thumb pressed just a little too hard against their cheekbone, before slapping as if they were still a naughty intern.

The second visit came after hunger stopped being hunger and became quiet. As if Leader’s body had forgotten to want. Muscles didn’t ache anymore. They simply were not. Time passed. Or didn't.

“You’re not even trying,” they noted. “I expected you to try digging. Scratching. Begging.”

Leader scoffed. Their lips cracked when they spoke. “You taught me well.”

That earned them a sharp kick—not hard enough to kill, just enough to remind. Pain had begun to feel like proof of existence. Leader hissed, curling inward. There was blood again.

“Still no change of heart?”

Silence.

Villain stood. “Then I'm done with you.”

Leader heard the door - hatch - again.

“You don’t have to die for them,” Villain said quietly. “They’re probably already replacing you. You know how fast these things move.”

Leader didn't answer.

“I could pull you out,” Villain offered. “Patch you up. Feed you. Clean you. Give you a new life.”

There was only silence after.

-•-

It started as a tremor.

Leader didn’t believe it at first. The infection had made illusions out of smaller things. Phantom footsteps, rescue teams that were only echoes of memory. But this… this vibration was different.

Real.

A scrape above. Then, a clatter. Stone against stone. Something shifted. The sealed lid, too heavy to dream of moving, began to Leak light. The pressure changed. Subtle, but it hit Leader like a gasp of fresh breath.

A second passed. Then another. Then, the lid pushed aside with a strained grunt. Dust fell in sheets. The beam of a flashlight broke into the cell.

Then—

Leader blinked against the white glare, breath stuck on their throat.

Not Villain. Not a hallucination.

It was Right Hand..

Right Hand dropped something—metal clanking against stone. A ladder. The shaft shook as they half-fell down , then knelt beside them. A warm hand brushed gently under Leader’s jaw, lifting their head.

“Leader. Hey. Look at me.” Their voice was rough, breaking. Why were they crying? “I’ve got you. We’ve got you. You're safe now.”

Leader’s eyes rolled back in their head. They forced them open again. Right Hand was still there. Still real.

“Right Hand…” Leader murmured, almost a question, an apology they had to get put of their chest.

“Shhh.” Right Hand cradled them, pushing away the thoughts and cold from Leader.. “You’re going to be okay, Leader. I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

Leader tried to push themselves up, but their body didn’t obey. Their limbs were stiff, like they had forgotten how to move, how to function. They had to get up, wanted to get up. Villain could come back. They would come back and then Right Hand would be defenceless with Leader burdening them.

“I… I can’t… walk,” Leader whispered, not registering the words. Their paranoia was supposed to stay inside. But they couldn't stop themselves. “I can’t…”

They were trembling. Their body was growing heavier with each passing moment, as though gravity itself had decided to weigh them down. They were a wreck and a burden, all the things they didn't want to br.

Right Hand’s hand came to their forehead. Cold. Leader leaned towards the cold. Their thoughts dissolved.

“I know,” Right Hand said softly. “I’m not asking you to walk. I’m carrying you.”

Leader opened their mouth to protest, to tell Right Hand not to risk it, but the words didn't come. They couldn’t make sense of what they wanted to say anymore.

“Hey. Look at me,” Right Hand said, their voice gentle but commanding. “Look at me.”

Leader’s eyes struggled to focus, but there was something in Right Hand’s gaze that grounded them. Thr cold hand left their forehead for a moment, but next their wrists were free. They didn't know - or care - how. Then the handover to their back.

“You’re gonna be alright, I promise,” Right Hand continued, voice steady.

Leader nodded—or maybe twitched. It didn’t matter. Right Hand moved fast, looping one arm under their shoulders and the other under their knees, lifting with a grunt. Leader hissed through their teeth. It felt like tearing open their stomach again.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Right Hand muttered. “You’re light as hell. That’s not a compliment.”

Leader wanted to laugh at that, but the sound that came out was closer to a gasp. The pain was distant now, muffled like sound underwater. The world swam as Right Hand cradled them close, navigating the narrow shaft with slow, careful steps. Each jolt sent pain ricocheting through their bones, but they clung to consciousness, focusing on Right Hand’s breathing, the steady rhythm of it. Not a hallucination. Not a dream. Real.

There was shouting above. Muffled. Urgent. Tech’s voice. Sharp, commanding.

“Exit’s not secure—we’ve got three minutes tops!”

“Medical’s ready, just get them up!”

The light widened. Then warmth hit Leader's skin—real warmth. Flashlight? Sunlight? They couldn’t tell, but it was not the dark. Leader sucked in a breath that didn’t taste like mold and rot. Their lungs burned with fresh air. Their vision blurred again, but it wasn’t darkness that swallowed them this time—it was too much light.

They were passed off—hands under their back, people murmuring, equipment beeping. They were floating. No, being carried again. Blankets. Needles. Medic's voice was too close.

“What did they do to you…” Youngest murmured, but Leader couldn’t answer. Their throat was raw, and everything ached. They blinked once. Twice.

Then everything went quiet.

-•-

The next time they woke, it was in a clean cot. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air. Wires ran to their wrist. Tubes. Machines. But no restraints. No stone. No rot.

Right Hand had was asleep sitting upright, a data tablet slipping from their fingers. Their head rested awkwardly against the wall, neck bent too far.

Leader tried to speak, but only managed a croak. Right Hand startled awake anyway.

“Leader,” they said, instantly alert. “You’re up. Hey. Hey. Don’t move, you’re still—”

“Team?” Leader rasped, eyes barely open.

“We’re fine. All of us. We regrouped. We found you.” Right Hand’s voice cracked on that last word. “Took too damn long, but we did.”

Leader stared at them, struggling to speak. “You saw. At the door. I—”

“I know.” Right Hand leaned in, their voice quieter now. “I know why you did it. We don’t blame you. Just… angry at your crazy stunts.”

Silence settled between them, heavy but not painful. Alive was good. Together was better. And everything was alright if they had the luxury to be angry.

Leader closed their eyes for a moment. “Villain?”

“Gone. Retreated when they realized we were coming. Coward with an attachment complex.” Right Hand paused. “They won’t get near you again.”

Leader turned their head slightly. “Was I gone long?”

Right Hand hesitated. “Eighteen days there. Another week in Medbay”

Leader blinked. That long. That short. It didn’t matter anymore.

“You held on,” Right Hand added, softer now. “No one believed you would’ve made it through that. But you did.”

Leader breathed in. Deep. Shaky. Tried to piece together. But their thoughts slipped.

“I’m sorry,” Leader said finally.

“For what?” Right Hand asked, eyebrows pulling together.

“For putting you in my place,” Leader whispered. “For leaving.”

“You didn’t leave us,” Right Hand said defensively. “You saved us. And now we’ll look after you. That’s how this works. We carry each other.”

Leader only smiled.

[fallenwhumpee]

For the prompt game:

Medic whumpee (1), Caretaker Leader (1), Medic whumper (as in it's self-inflicted), team dynamic (6), Magic exhaustion/self sacrifice trope (19, 1), "Thank goodness, you're finally awake" dialogue (8)?

I'm thinking of a cleric pushing themselves too far with their healing magic and fainting, and coming to maybe days later to everyone (but mainly Leader's) relief 🤭

if that's alright, ofc!

Here you go!

Warnings: Aftermath, magic whump, magic healing. -> From this ask game <-

The worst part about the after wasn’t the pain. It wasn’t even the smell of blood and magic in the air — thick, acrid, suffocating. It was the silence that followed it. The kind of silence that didn’t feel like relief, but like the world holding its breath, waiting to see who made it out.

Leader staggered over broken ground, each step a harder than the former. Their side ached like it had caved in, ribs cracked or worse, but that didn’t matter. Not right now. Not when the dust was still settling, not when the wreckage of the ambush sprawled around them in smoking ruin.

“Healer,” they called. They had to get back before Healer decided to do something stupid.

No answer.

Leader fastened their steps, ignoring the pain. Then they caught movement—across the debris, knees in the dirt, hands trembling, aura burning white-hot and flickering at the edges like a candle too close to dying.

“Healer!” Leader rushed forward, nearly tripping over a half-buried stone. “Talk to me.”

Healer didn’t look up. Their hands were pressed tight over Youngest’s chest, breath stuttering like their own lungs couldn’t remember how to function. Light bloomed between their fingers, erratic, sputtering. Leader dropped to their knees beside them, catching sight of Youngest’s shallow breath, the wound in their stomach half-sealed.

“I’m fine,” Healer rasped, voice paper-thin. “They… needed it.”

They didn’t look fine. They looked like a shell of themselves—eyes unfocused, lips pale, arms trembling like every ounce of strength had been wrung out and replaced with pain.

“Where are others?” Leader asked, casting a quick glance over the ruins. “Where’s—”

“Down. Hurt.” Healer swayed. “I stabilized them. Then Archer. Then… Right Hand.”

Leader froze. “You already—”

“Only you left,” Healer whispered. Their hands moved again, away from youngest, who just went limp, but breathing. Healer reached for Leader’s side, and light sparked to life once more. “Then I’m done. Just one more.”

“No,” Leader said, backing up instinctively. “No, not like this. I’ve had worse. You need to stop.”

But Healer shook their head. “You’re bleeding inside,” they whispered. “If I stop, you won’t make it through the night.”

“I’d rather risk it than watch you drop, I can wait until you catch your breath.”

“I’m not—” Healer wavered and nearly collapsed forward, barely catching themselves on one hand as Leader helped them to keep still. Healer's voice broke. “Please… just let me do this.”

Leader cursed under their breath. They could see it, plain as day: the way Healer’s magic was peeling pieces off their soul. Too much too fast, the raw force of it leaving burns on their skin and glassiness in their eyes.

Still, they let Healer press trembling fingers to their side.

The magic seeped in with a sharp sting, chasing out the agony, closing the breaks. Leader hissed but didn’t move. They couldn’t—not when Healer was leaning so heavily against them, when the energy surging into them twnsed them as if they were struck with lightning.

It took longer than it should have. Seconds felt like hours. Leader felt their ribs knitting back together, the internal bruising fading and leaving them with a burning pain

Then, the healer exhaled, one long shudder of breath. The glow went out.

And they collapsed.

Leader caught them before they hit the ground.

“Healer—hey, hey—no, no, no—” Their hands shook as they pulled Healer into their arms “Stay with me. Open your eyes.”

Healer didn’t respond. Their head lolled against Leader’s chest, deadweight.

Leader didn’t panic. Not yet. They pressed fingers to the pulse point at Healer’s neck. Still there. Fast. Weak. But there.

“Right Hand!” Leader’s voice rang out sharp, clipped. “I need you here now.”

A groan from behind the rubble. Movement. Right Hand limped into view a moment later, eyes going wide.

“Oh no,” they breathed. “What happened?”

“Burnout,” Leader muttered. “Too much magic. They healed all of us. Take Youngest, we're done.”

Right Hand didn’t need to be told twice. Soon, they caught up with Youngest between them and Archer, both looking banged up but a lot less hurt than they were supposed to. Then, Leader led them back home.

-•-

Leader didn’t leave Healer’s side.

Not that night. Not the next day. Not the one after that, either.

They took up residence in the infirmary, chair dragged close, arms crossed tight, eyes never straying far. Others got back to their feet eventually. Right Hand recovered quickest, already back on duty, keeping them busy with small tasks. But Leader—Leader couldn’t move on. Not when the person who kept them alive lay silent, motionless, draped in blankets that couldn’t keep the cold from seeping into their skin.

Time blurred. They lost track of meals. Of sleep. The others came and went, offering updates and reassurances, but nothing stuck. None of it mattered.

Then, after a week, Youngest walked in.

And didn’t say a word. They just stood there, arms crossed, staring at Leader until Leader finally looked up with a sigh.

“You need to sleep,” Youngest said.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Youngest snapped. “You’re pale. You smell. You’re shaking. You’re not helping.”

Leader looked back down. “I’m not leaving them.”

Youngest moved forward, jaw tight. “They wouldn’t want you like this.”

That stung. More than Leader expected.

“I can’t just leave.”

“I’ll sit with them,” Youngest tried, softer now. “I promise. Just for a few hours. You can come back.”

Leader hesitated. But exhaustion was clawing at their throat, their limbs, their bones.

Finally, reluctantly, they stood. “If anything changes—”

“I’ll tell you first.”

Leader nodded once, slow. They rested a hand briefly on Healer’s shoulder, then turned and left.

The door clicked shut behind them.

-•-

Everything was heavy.

Healer floated somewhere between awareness and absence, a dull hum buzzing under their skin. Their body wasn’t quite pain and wasn’t quite numb, but a tangled mess in between. The first thing they noticed was the weight—not of their own limbs, but of quiet.

No shouting. No tension. No pain.

Then breath. Then, a heartbeat. Then, the pressure of fabric against their skin. And they realised slowly, they were lying down. Somewhere soft.

They blinked.

Slowly.

The ceiling was familiar. Pale, slightly cracked. They stared at it, trying to gather their thoughts, but everything moved sluggishly. Like they were swimming through syrup.

“Hey,” someone whispered.

Healer turned their head, and the motion sent a stab of dizziness straight through their temples. They winced.

Youngest sat beside them, slouched in a chair that looked far too big for their small frame. Their face was pale, shadows under their eyes like bruises, but when they saw Healer move, something in their expression cracked open.

“Thank goodnes, you’re awake,” Youngest said, voice trembling with the relief they were trying not to show.

Healer licked their lips. “Leader.”

Youngest blinked. “What?”

“Did I—” Healer coughed, throat like sandpaper. “Did I heal them?”

The panic came in all at once, icy and cold and clenching in their chest. They sat up—or tried to. Their arms gave out halfway, and they collapsed back onto the bed with a sharp breath.

“Whoa, hey—don’t move,” Youngest leaned in immediately, hands hovering uselessly. “You’re okay. They’re okay. Everyone’s okay. You did it.”

The words barely registered. Healer stared at them, their thoughts moving in sharp, jerky bursts.

“I remember Archer… and Right Hand… and you…” They looked at Youngest again, uncertain. “You were bleeding.”

Youngest winced faintly. “Yeah. You got me, too. Hurt like hell, thanks.”

Healer’s voice dropped. “But Leader…”

“They’re fine.”

Healer didn’t believe it. Not really. “You’re sure?”

Youngest nodded. “I’m sure. They wouldn’t leave your side for a whole week.”

A beat of silence.

“Wait,” Healer rasped. “A week?”

“You passed out. Hard. No waking, no twitching. It was bad.”

Healer frowned. “And Leader…?”

“Sat in that chair, same one I’m in, barely sleeping, definitely not eating. We had to drag them out a few minutes ago, actually. Right Hand was tempted to tie them down to their bed and get them to rest.”

Healer closed their eyes for a long moment, exhaling slow and shaky. “I didn’t mean… I just didn’t want anyone to die.”

Youngest softened. “You saved everyone. You hear me? Everyone. Don’t you dare regret that.”

Healer didn’t answer. But something in their chest eased—slowly, haltingly—like a muscle finally unclenching after being clenched too long.

They opened their eyes again.

“Tell them I’m awake?” they asked, quietly.

Youngest smiled faintly. “Sure. Leader will probably come sprinting.”

Healer huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. Then lay back, eyelids already fluttering closed again. This time without fear.

-•-

They drifted again—half-asleep, not quite unconscious. A warm kind of haze, gentle and almost safe, like floating underwater just beneath the sunlight. But something tugged at the edges of that calm.

“Hey.”

That voice.

Soft. Raw. Too familiar to be a dream.

Healer's eyes fluttered open again. Slow. Heavy. The light hurt less this time, and they pushed through the sting. Blinked until the shape at their bedside came into focus.

Leader.

They looked wrecked.

Not in the bloody, battlefield way Healer was used to. No, this was worse. Leader looked frayed. Like the world had been clawing at them constantly. Hair a mess, eyes rimmed with red, exhaustion carved into every line of their face. Their shirt was rumpled, stained, sleeves rolled up like they’d been preparing to fight sleep itself rather than any enemy.

They sat in the same chair Youngest had occupied. Except Leader didn’t slouch—they leaned in like they’d been poised on the edge of it for hours, refusing to let themselves relax even for a breath.

Healer tried to speak. Failed.

Leader’s hand shot forward. Not to touch—just to hover. A trembling thing, unsure of its welcome.

“Don’t,” Leader whispered. “Don’t move. You’re okay. Just… stay still.”

Healer’s throat worked, the panic from earlier stirring faintly again. “I don’t remember.”

“You saved us.”

Healer blinked slowly. “Good.”

Leader let out a quiet, shaky breath like they’d been holding it this entire time.

“You scared the hell out of me,” they muttered.

Healer frowned faintly. “I’m the healer. Scaring people isn’t my job.”

Leader huffed a quiet, humorless sound. Almost a laugh. “Then next time, don’t collapse on us.”

Healer winced. “Is that what I did?”

“Pretty much. You were out for a week.”

Healer’s brow furrowed. “That’s excessive.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a moment. The kind of silence filled with a thousand things unsaid. Healer could feel the weight of it pressing down between them.

“I tried to stop you,” Leader said at last, softer than before. “Next time, do as I say.”

Healer closed their eyes. “I had to. You’re the Leader. You’re—” They swallowed. “We don’t function without you.”

Leader's voice cracked. “You think I function without you?”

That silence returned, heavy and thick.

“You always think it’s your job to take the fall,” Leader scoffed, quieter now, rougher. “Like it’s fine if it’s you. Like it doesn’t count. But you’re not expendable, Healer. You never were. I would’ve given anything to stop you from pushing that far. I just—I didn’t get there fast enough.”

Healer turned their head slightly on the pillow, finally meeting Leader’s eyes. They looked so tired. Like they'd been holding themselves together with threads.

“I’m sorry,” they whispered.

Leader shook their head. “Don’t be. Just… don’t ever do that again. Not like that.”

Healer almost smiled. “No promises.”

Leader exhaled hard. “You're grounded.”

Healer’s eyelids drooped again. Warmth tugged at them. Not just sleep, but comfort. The knowledge that they were safe. That Leader was here.

“Are you going to sit there another week?” they mumbled.

“I don’t trust you not to jump out of bed and try to fix someone.”

“Can’t even fix myself right now.”

Leader stood. Walked the two steps to the bed. Then, cautiously, they reached out and brushed Healer’s hair back, hand lingering at their temple.

“Then rest,” they sighed. “And don't do again. I won't let this repeat.”

Healer let themselves slip back under.

This time, they believed it.

[fallenwhumpee]

2, 1, 7, 6, 30, 7

also can i say this is such a cool idea for a ask game? wow wow

Hii! Oh well, maybe I should have used emojis. In case people wanted less or more prompts/dialogues or doesn't want any whumper/caretaker etc. This is not efficient at all, with either me or the asker have to write what the number is for. I guess I'll figure it out as we go lol. Anyway, please enjoy!

Warnings: Captivity, torture, drowning.

Right Hand whumpee, Leader caretaker, Villain whumper, team dynamics, drowning, "Don't move" from -> this ask game <-

Leader sat between Right Hand and Villain, chains weighting them down. This wasn't what they intended when they tried to bait Villain. Right Hand wasn't supposed to get caught. But they were too loyal and too selfless for that. Leader didn't deserve this devotion.

Villain stared at them. Leader didn't like it at all.

"Is useless to sit there, you know. I'll choose them once they wake up."

Leader gritted their teeth. If they were tied up instead of chained, Villain wouldn't dare. Because then Leader would have a chance to get out, or at least shield Right Hand. Now, when they could barely carry their own arms, Leader knew they had to stand down. But that didn't mean a surrender. If Villain wanted Right Hand, they still had to get past Leader.

Silence dragged on. Leader's eyes kept following Villain as they paced around. They weren't going to give up. And maybe, only maybe, if they annoyed Villain passive enough, they would choose Leader instead of Right Hand.

But before any of them gave up, Right Hand stirred.

Leader's breath hitched. Too early. Too soon. Leader was yet to get their way. They didn't want Right Hand to wake up into this.

Villain noticed instantly, their twisted smile making Leader shudder.

“Well, good morning,” Villain mused, stepping closer. “Just in time.”

Right Hand blinked groggily, confusion shifting quickly into awareness as they took in the chains, the cold floor, and finally Leader, their brows furrowing.

"You okay, Leader?"

Leader nodded. They bit their lip, not asking back. Right Hand probably had a headache. Villain had generously allowed Leader to check on them before, and Leader cleaned the wound themselves. It wasn't deep, but combined with whatever Villain gave them to keep them asleep, it was definitely uncomfortable.

Right Hand nodded back, but didn’t speak.

Villain crouched in front of them, just a little out of the chains' reach. "I have a simple question. Your Leader here won't answer egen if I kill them. I thought maybe you’d be more cooperative."

Leader’s jaw clenched. “Don’t.”

Villain's eyes flicked to them, all amusement. “Don’t? I’m not even hurting you.”

And then, too fast to stop it, Villain grabbed Right Hand by the collar and slammed Right Hand to wall. Leader gasped, charging forward only for their shoulders to hurt with chains holding them down.

Villain removed Right Hand's chains and dragged them toward the basin tucked in the corner of the room. A heavy stone tub filled with water—Leader had noted it before, like everything else in the room, but had expected it to be used on them. Not Right Hand.

“Stop!” Leader strained against the chains, wrists burning. “They don’t know anything!”

Villain didn’t pause. “Then this will be very short.”

Right Hand struggled, as they came to themselves, still sluggish from whatever they’d been drugged with. Villain forced them down, one hand pressing firm at the back of their neck.

Leader’s voice cracked. “Don’t you touch them—!”

The splash was immediate, violent. Water sloshed over the edge of the basin as Right Hand was plunged under.

Leader thrashed against the chains. “They don’t know anything!”

No answer. Just the sound of water and Right Hand’s legs kicking weakly before going still.

Seconds dragged. Too many. Leader could barely breathe.

Then Villain yanked them up again.

Right Hand gasped, coughing hard, sputtering as they went limb on Villain's hold.

Villain gave Leader a pointed look. “One question. One answer. Or I go again.”

Leader shook their head furiously, pain prickling behind their eyes. “Don’t—”

Villain smiled with too many teeth. “Then talk.”

Leader stared at Right Hand—face pale, trembling, water running down their cheeks. And still, even through it, they met Leader’s gaze and shook their head. Leader found it harder to

Leader swallowed hard. “Ask.”

Villain tilted their head. “Where is my Henchman?”

Leader didn't answer.

Villain dropped Right Hand again.

Leader charged forward again, chains cutting into their wrists. They could only watch as Right Hand struggled against Villain before going limp again.

Leader couldn’t scream. Their throat was raw, their strength drained. All they could do was lurch forward, rattling the chains like a desperate animal as the seconds crawled by.

Then, just as Leader felt their heart stagger, Villain pulled Right Hand up again, water spilling everywhere. They were completely limp this time, barely coughing, eyelids fluttering like they couldn’t decide whether to stay conscious.

Villain sighed. “That’s boring.”

And with the ease of someone tossing a broken tool aside, Villain turned and flung Right Hand toward Leader. They landed hard against the floor, limbs slack.

Leader scrambled the inch they could manage, dragging the chains with them until they were close enough to touch.

“Right Hand,” they whispered, cradling them with shaking arms. “Hey. You’re okay. You’re fine, I’ve got you.”

Right Hand groaned, water still dribbling from their lips. Their eyes barely cracked open, unfocused. They tried to turn, but failed as they collapsed back to Leader's arms.

“Don't move. You ’re alright,” Leader repeated, brushing soaked hair away from their face as they turned Right Hand to face down. “Just breathe. I’m here.”

Right Hand shuddered with coughs, Leader holding them steady. Their fingers found the pulse in Right Hand’s neck—thready, but there. Too fast. And their skin was cold. Leader dragged them closer, curling protectively around them as much as the chains allowed. They pressed Right Hand to their chest.

“You idiot,” Leader murmured. “You weren’t supposed to follow me. You weren’t supposed to get caught.”

Right Hand wheezed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “Didn’t… feel right… letting you go alone.”

Leader’s throat tightened. “Well, next time, leave self-sacrificing part to me.”

Right Hand coughed again, and Leader felt the way it rattled in their chest. They pulled Right Hand in tighter, trying to share what little warmth they had.

“I’m gonna get us out of here,” Leader whispered, barely audible. “I promise.”

Behind them, Villain chuckled, leaning against the far wall, watching like it was all a play put on for their amusement. “Such tenderness. It’s almost sweet. Shame it won’t last.”

Leader didn’t answer, but stared right I to their eyes.

Their focus was Right Hand. Their breath. Their pulse. "You think you can hold yourself?" Leader asked as they buried their mouth to Right Hand's shirt.

Right Hand nodded weakly. It was all Leader needed before pressing their fists together and biting their tongue as they popped their right thump.

Villain frowned at the noise, but the confusion gave Leader enough time to repeat it with their left hand and slip the chains off. With trusting Right Hand to hold themselves, Leader jolted forward. They slammed their head to Villain's, sending both of them to the floor. Leader quickly scrambled to their feet. They jumped on Villain and grabbed Villain's knife. It hurt to hold the heavy metal, but they couldn't back off.

"Leader," Right Hand croaked. Only then Leader focused on Villain truly. Villain was looking at them with pure horror.

"Don't ever dare to lay a hand on my team," Leader snarled before getting up. They kept the knife with them, but rushed next to Right Hand. They were done here.

[fallenwhumpee]

You know what? I'll just do a prompt game. Send me an ask with numbers and tell me if you want ideas or a short piece.

• Whumpee:

1. Leader

2. Right Hand

3. Medic

4. Youngest

5. Royalty

6. Hero

7. Villain

8. Mentor

9. Mentee

10. Living Weapon

• Caretaker:

1. Leader

2. Right Hand

3. Medic

4. Youngest

5. Royalty

6. Hero

7. Villain

8. Mentor

9. Mentee

• Whumper:

1. Leader

2. Right Hand

3. Medic

4. Stalker

5. Royalty

6. Hero

7. Villain

8. Mentor

• Dynamics:

1. Friends

2. Strangers

3. Mentor-mentee

4. Enemies

5. Partners

6. Team

• Tropes:

1. Self-sacrifice

2. Poisoned

3. Insomnia

4. Hypothermia

5. Broken ribs

6. Concussion

7. Scars

8. Hallucinations

9. Shackled

10. Conditioned

11. Truth Serum

12. Mind Control

13. Left for Dead

14. Overworking

15. Solitary Confinement

16. Cauterization

17. Touch Starved

18. Memory Loss

19. Magic exhaustion

20. Betrayed

21. Infection

22. Isolation

23. Rescue

24.On the Run

25. Buried Alive

26. Backstory Reveal

27. Fire

28. Sick

29. Mutiny

30. Drowning

• Dialogue:

1. "Don't look"

2. "I think I need to sit down."

3. "Where did your defiance go?"

4. "l'm sorry"

5. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

6. "I can't walk."

7. "Don't Move"

8. "Thank goodnees. You'tre finaly awake."

9. "You're still alive?"

10. "No one's coming for you."

11. "You're safe now."

12. "Hold them down."

13. "Better me than you."

14. "This is for your own good."

15. "I can't lose you again."

16. "You promised."

17. "It's just a scratch. I'm fine."

18. "Where am I?"

19. "What have you done?"

20. "Please don't push me away"

[fallenwhumpee]

Rant time

I want to make OCs. There are a few problems:

1. I write for tropes rather than characters. I don't care who is who and who is not. It has been only stereotypes and situations until today.

2. It is odd for me and this blog, considering I got this point all by blank characters. Yeah, some things got out of my hand (eg: traitor) but they're just exceptions. I don't know how to talk about ocs too. I stare something for a good while while posting and who knows how much my incoherent infodump will need before I can feel a little at ease with what I've scribbled.

3. I shouldn't be trusted with long projects. Never. And ocs feel like a big commitment.

And the biggest problem:

I got attached to placeholder names(even though they're not names at all.)

Like, how would oc posts fit my blog? Would people even be interested? Will I have the time to care all of them? I already reuse characters, even though not obvious, but making it clear feels... off. I also reuse worldbuilding/lore but it's just not the same. And maybe I'm scared a little. Juuust a little.

This made a lot more sense in my head.

Note: this post is made after 14 hours of studying and shouldn't be taken too seriously even though I'm seriously considering making ocs.

[fallenwhumpee]

Wrong

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Amnesia, flashbacks, fantasy settings, knife.

They stood still. They didn’t know where they were or why they were standing at all. But it felt wrong. Wrong to force their body to keep their weight, when all they saw in the mirror could barely be called living. Still, they stood still. Their bony limbs trembled even though they felt nothing. Perhaps they didn’t want to believe the walking corpse in the mirror was themselves.

Because the eyes that stared back at them were dull. Lifeless. Sunken and dazed. They didn’t know why, but they weren’t supposed to be like this. They weren’t supposed to look so weak, either. They could see their joints sticking out, posture slouched. They looked in pain, even though they didn’t feel the pain.

They took a step closer to the mirror. Their knees buckled beneath them, their legs aching. Their vision blurred. They breathed sharply, desperately reaching the mirror to support themselves, the sharp edges digging into their skin. A fleeting pain silenced their thoughts for a moment, but numbness took over again as a red trail travelled down.

They pulled their hand back, their palm strained. They wiped the blood onto the too big clothes on them. They weren’t even filling the shoulder length of the shirt. Too thin, too fragile. Yet they felt too heavy, so heavy that they thought their feet were about to give up.

The morning light - or moonlight? They didn’t know the time - reflected from the mirror as the wind blew the curtains. They rubbed their arms, cold clinging to their skin, soothing and biting at the same time. They looked at their reflection again, for something, for anything. They didn't know what they were looking for.

Perhaps they wanted the reflection to shift. The pale face to brighten, the dark veins disappear. To see some sign of life. But no. There was only them, still as death, looking everything but alive. The door knocked. They didn't know if they were more startled that there was a door nearby or that they flinched. They caught themselves before they could lose balance, though their body tensed and they could feel their blood running cold.

They didn't feel fear. Like pain, it was either momentary or not there at all. It didn't stop them from acting like there was a sword on their throat. Cold, sharp. It kept them from taking a deep breath or talking. For a second, they wondered how they sounded. They didn't think about why they didn't remember their own voice. The door creaked open, slow. They felt like there was no room to breathe. They had to be ready for an attack, to defend, to… they didn't know. But standing still as a shadow moved into the room was just wrong.

Snow flopped down as the figure shook themselves, a big cloak covering their features. They kicked their boots aside, turning back to close the door as they tore the cloak. "I hate the snow with the all might of—" the figure muttered, turning back again. They froze at the sight, their face falling. "Whumpee? You're— you're awake."

Whumpee? The word echoed in their mind, a foreign sound that felt like it belonged to someone else. They opened their mouth to respond, to ask what they meant by a name, this name, but no words came out. A knot formed on their throat. They couldn’t talk. The figure stepped closer, careful. As if they could just run away. Perhaps they would if they could. But they didn't trust their legs.

"You shouldn't be standing at all," the figure said. They were led down to the bed just behind them. Another source of fear, they hadn’t looked around, they didn't know where danger could come from or what they could use to— no. They couldn't be thinking about fighting when they could barely stand. They simply let the figure push themselves down but not lay down. The figure put a hand on their forehead, checking their visible skin. They didn't know what the figure looked for, but they wanted answers. For this, for everything.

"Who…" they rasped. Their voice was low, hurting their throat. Hoarse. But they tried again. "Who are you?"

The figure stopped. They tensed as if expecting the question. Yet it looked like it pained them. They bit their lip and took a deep breath before straightening a little. "I'm Right Hand,“ they started. ”Head of— well, that doesn't matter. I’m a friend. You've been through enough, so don’t move. I'll bring you some water." The figure�� Right Hand muttered before bolting away. Whumpee couldn't understand. This felt familiar. Eerily familiar, yet equally strange. They had to get away from this stranger, yet their body eased back down into the covers. They were tired and scared even though they didn't want to admit it.

Whumpee's heart raced as Right Hand disappeared through the door, leaving them alone in the dim light. The silence felt oppressive like hands tightening around their throat. The room felt too large, too empty, and Whumpee's thoughts spiralled. Who was this Right Hand? Why did they feel so familiar yet so foreign? The name echoed in their mind, a whisper of something lost. They pressed their palms against the sheets, grounding themselves. Their hand hurt. And pain nailed them to the present. They breathed sharply not to whimper, the motion familiar. They must have done that before. The blood on their palm dried slowly as the pain faded, leaving a dark stain on the sheets. They flexed their fingers, wincing. The pain was welcome, at least, proof that they were alive.

A soft rustle broke the silence, and they turned their head sharply, eyes darting toward the door. Had Right Hand returned? But the door remained closed, and the silence returned, more oppressive than before. Whumpee took a deep breath, the air filling their lungs with a chill that sent shivers down their spine. They had to do something. They couldn’t just sit here, waiting for answers that might never come.

Foolishly trusting their shaky legs, they pushed themselves up from the bed, their legs trembling beneath them. Each movement felt like a battle, their body protesting against the effort. They took a step forward, then another, the floor cold against their bare feet. The floor creaked beneath them. There were two doors, one that Right Hand got in and went into. Suddenly, the door creaked open again, and Whumpee jerked back. Right Hand stepped inside, a glass of water and a crystal bottle on hand.

“I told you to stay put,” Right Hand frowned. Whumpee shrunk.“You should stop being stubborn for once.”

“For once?” Whumpee repeated.

“Never mind,” Right Hand waved off. They grabbed Whumpee’s arm gently. “Don’t do this again.”

Why, Whumpee didn’t ask. They didn’t ask why they were hurt, too. They didn’t ask why Right Hand was being kind.

They didn’t ask who they were.

Something kept them from doing so. For once again, Whumpee let themselves get pushed back to bed, leaning to the touch as their knees ached. They weren’t going to anger Right Hand, who might or might not be hostile. Right Hand was definitely interested in Whumpee, but there was no telling what they could do.

Whumpee knew nothing, after all. They were supposed to be panicking about that, but they weren’t. Whatever kept them from asking was also keeping them calm.

Like a spell.

An uncomfortable silence settled. Right Hand stiffened, offering the glass. “You should drink. This and the medicine. Healer— my friend prepared it for if - when - you woke up. With a strict order not to get up, I should add. They’ll have our heads.”

Whumpee nodded reluctantly. They grabbed the glass, staring at Right Hand. Water and medicine. Water and some liquid. Something Whumpee wasn’t sure they wanted to drink.

The medicine can wait,“ Right Hand muttered. ”It’s not… it’s not what you think it is, really. And I don’t expect you to trust me immediately. You probably think I’m tricking you. Hells, You taught me better than that—“ Right Hand froze, covering their mouth. ”I shouldn’t have told that.“

Whumpee took the medicine from Right Hand’s hand and drank it at once. They gulped with the bitter taste, scrunching their face. They hated it immediately. But they hoped Right Hand would think of it as a show of trust. They had no better option anyway.

“Okay, that’s… that’s good.”

Whumpee nodded. “I taught you something?” they asked, too quiet that they weren’t sure they were heard.

“I shouldn’t burden you with everything. Not yet.”

"I want to know," Whumpee tried. They yawned. No, no, no. They didn't want to sleep. They needed answers.

"Medicine will make you sleep for a while. Your body needs it," Right Hand ignored Whumpee's words, pushing Whumpee down. Whumpee grabbed the edge of the bed, stubborn not to lay down but their limbs began throbbing, their vision blurring. They were tired.

Right Hand laid Whumpee down slowly, tucking them under sheets. Whumpee tried to struggle, but their body let go of the efforts when Right Hand caressed their hair. It would be horrifying, to be forced like this and their body just shutting down,  if it wasn’t so nice. The touch, warm and gentle, soothed Whumpee's mind, their thoughts slipping.

Whumpee tried to resist, trying to move their body to prevent their surrender to the sudden exhaustion and trying to focus on the voice. They drifted in and out, the soothing motion continuing for a while before an unnatural thing took over its place.

Words, Whumpee realised. The words were heavy around them, pulling them to darkness. The words were making them sleepy. Right Hand was casting a spell on them.

Whumpee found themselves in darkness, Right Hand's voice fading. They felt lighter, the aches disappearing. This sudden shift wasn’t comforting. Did they fall asleep?

Whumpee drifted deeper into the darkness, a soft hum wrapped around them, both comforting and suffocating. It resonated within their mind, foreign yet familiar.

"Calm down, my child," the voice murmured, its tone smooth and alluring. "You are safe here."

Whumpee felt a strange pull toward the voice, an instinctive recognition that sent shivers down their spine. It was as if the darkness itself was alive, oozing with a power that urged Whumpee to follow the trail. They could feel something stirring within them, a latent energy that had been dormant for far too long.

"Who are you?" Whumpee managed to whisper, their voice barely coming out against the almost literal weight of the darkness crushing their chest.

“ı’m what you lost.”

What Whumpee lost? Memories? Themselves? Could this voice fix what was wrong?

Why would it do anything for Whumpee? But they couldn’t ask that, could they?

"What do you want from me?" Whumpee snarled instead. This distrust was going to be the end of them, but they couldn’t be sure of anything, anyone.

"Nothing. Nothing from you. You already gave me enough."

Gave a voice something. Taught Right hand something. Used to pain. Weak, but shouldn’t be. Not panicking, but should be. It didn’t tell Whumpee much about who Whumpee was, other than something bad happened.

“You’re still not ready,” The voice echoed and then Whumpee was falling—

“It’s okay,” they heard Right Hand stutter. “You’re safe.”

Whumpee straightened instinctively, their hands reaching to rub their eyes. They ended up wiping their tears instead. Why were they crying?

“You’re safe,” they repeated, rubbing Whumpee’s back.

“Why are you doing this?” Whumpee sobbed. They were confused, defenceless. In a place they didn’t know anything about and with a stranger. Even their mind - assuming they just had a nightmare - was against them. They could be excused for acting like a child.

“Because you mattered to me— you still do. To a lot of people. I know you’re scared.”

“I don’t remember,” Whumpee choked out. And it was all their body needed before they broke down, Right Hand just holding them.

-•-

Surprisingly, Things went better in the following days. They didn’t know why, but they stopped being on edge all the time.

Walking wasn’t as easy as the first time, though. They should have been more grateful when the pain was just dull. Their body was a wreck. They felt as dead as they looked. A spell, Right Hand had said. Took a lot from Whumpee. While Whumpee knew there was more to it, they accepted the answer. Even thinking about it made their head throb.

Whumpee sat at the edge of the bed they had kind of invaded for the past week. Right Hand was kind enough, even though helping hurt them.

Whumpee was neither blind nor ignorant. They had realised something was off. They simply… ignored. Didn’t ask. There was no need to cause pain to both of them.

People came and went for some time. Whumpee didn’t know any of them, but all had the same look on their faces. Devastated. As if Whumpee was supposed to know them.

“You need some fresh air?” Right Hand asked. Right. They were talking about… something. Whumpee forgot what it was. They were busy with being lost in their thoughts. They must have worried Right Hand with their silence.

“I’m sorry,” Whumpee sighed. “I was listening, I swear.”

“That’s okay. Palace politics never interested you anyway,” Right Hand chuckled, before souring again. “Well, at least you now know the peace here is… fragile. So, lay low.”

“It’s not like I can do much,” Whumpee shrugged.

Right Hand smiled— or at least tried.

Whumpee stood, instinctively reaching for Right Hand. They still felt unsteady on their own, and Right Hand had always been around to help them. They were getting too used to it.

Right Hand grabbed two cloaks. They stared at the two for a moment, before sighing.

“You better have mine, It’s a little longer, but less wide. You won’t fill your own one.”

Before Whumpee could tell something, a cloak was thrown on their shoulders. Whumpee got lost in the fabric, but it was comfortable.

Right Hand wore the other, the fabric being too large for them too, even though not quite long enough. Still, they put a hand on Whumpee’s back, leading them out.

“Perhaps we should buy you new clothes. Your own won’t fit you for a good while and You and I are built different.”

Whumpee didn’t ask what Right Hand meant by that. They simply walked out.

Whumpee wasn’t on house arrest, and they had been outside a few times, but stepping out made them feel free. The small hut they occupied was, well, small. Suffocating. Filled with reflective surfaces that Whumpee tried to avoid. The sight of their face felt just wrong.

Whumpee watched their steps, focusing on putting one feet in front of the other. The hut was a little into the woods, so they had a few moments to collect their thoughts before they got near people.

The last few times hadn’t gone too well. Healer had… triggered something. A memory, Whumpee assumed, even though it was too disoriented to be called one.

Whumpee stumbled on a branch.

“Watch your step,” Right Hand warned. Whumpee got closer to Right Hand, hoping that they weren’t going to get distracted again and if they did, Right Hand would catch them.

The town was calm, just like Right Hand had told. Whumoee was glad that the feeling didn't come with the sight. They were tired of things being too familiar yet too strange.

The streets stretched wide before them, the air carrying the scent of baked bread and damp stone. Snow clung to the edges of the worn cobblestones, muddied where carts and boots had passed too often. People moved about their day, voices hushed but not lifeless. It wasn’t bustling, but it wasn’t stagnant either.

Whumpee pulled the cloak tighter around themselves.

They felt Right Hand’s gaze flicker toward them, checking - always watching - but they pretended not to notice. Instead, they focused on the way their feet landed on the uneven road, willing themselves to walk steadier. They weren’t fragile. At least weren't meant to be. But their body disagreed.

Right Hand led them toward a modest shop, its wooden sign swinging slightly in the cold breeze. The inside was warm, someone humming along with the ruffles of fabric being handled and measured. Shelves and tables were stacked with tunics, cloaks, and gloves, all in muted colors. Nothing grand. But practical.

The shopkeeper, an older woman with big and bright eyes, glanced up. Her expression flickered—there, just for a moment. Recognition? Or pity? Whumpee wasn’t sure which they despised more. They just wanted to get lost in their cloak.

Right Hand was quick to find what they wanted, already choosing a few pieces clothes. “Something simple,” they muttered, half to themselves. “Loose, but not too much. And warm.”

Whumpee exhaled through their nose. They weren’t sure why they bothered caring. Whatever they wore, it would hang off them wrong. Too big, too loose.

The shopkeeper moved carefully, pulling a few options from the shelves, grabbing a few sizes to shoe. Whumpee barely paid attention. They just listened the humming. Their thoughts were getting bothersome..

Then something tugged at their sleeve.

Small fingers.

Whumpee blinked down at a child, no older than seven, eyes round with curiosity. Another child peeked from behind, whispering to the first.

Before Whumpee could react, more small figures gathered—some hesitant, some bolder. They stared at Whumpee, eyes wide and wondering. No fear. No pity. Just… awe.

“Is it really them?” one child whispered.

“They look different.”

“Of course, they do! It was a big battle—”

“—but they wouldn't lose strength, would they?”

Whumpee's chest tightened.

They wanted to correct them. Wanted to tell them that they confused Whumpee with someone else. That their body was too broken, their mind too fractured to be powerful at any point.

But the words didn’t come.

Instead, they let themselves be pulled forward, slow and careful, as the children beckoned them outside.

Just for a moment.

Just to see what they wanted.

Behind them, Right Hand was still at the counter, speaking with the shopkeeper. They hadn’t noticed yet.

Whumpee let themselves move with the children, listening as they began to talk between themselves, telling stories of what had happened, what they had heard, what they believed. Each retelling was a little different, but always, always, they spoke of Whumpee with admiration, even if they used another name. A rank or a nickname.

Something in them ached. They weren’t sure they wanted to hear those stories. But they didn’t pull away. They swallowed, gripping the cloak tighter. They wanted to deny it, to tell the children that their stories were just that—stories. But they hesitated. What was the point? Let them believe in their hero. Probably that person had long since ceased to exist anyway.

Whumpee just stared at them. The children argued, knives being pulled— no. Just rings shining with light. And there was no blood, definitely Whumpee didn't see children on the floor and bleeding because Whumpee had been too late, too late to break through the siege—

Their breath hitched when a small hand pressed against theirs. One of the children stared up at Whumpee. “You’re cold,” the child murmured, small fingers wrapping around Whumpee’s wrist as if they could will warmth back into them.

Whumpee flinched.

They pulled their hand back too fast, too sharp, and the child’s expression fell. The other children quieted, shifting uncertainly.

“I—” Whumpee started, voice hoarse, but the words stuck in their throat.

“Alright,” Right Hand’s voice cut through, steady but firm. Not unkind. Whumpee felt a hand on their shoulder. “That’s enough for now.”

The children didn’t run, didn’t scatter in fear, but they hesitated before stepping back, their awe dimming into disappointment, maybe.

Whumpee wasn't great at reading expressions.

Whumpee lowered their gaze, ashamed without knowing why.

“Come on,” Right Hand said, offering a hand. Not forcing. Just… waiting.

Whumpee hesitated, then let themselves be led back inside. The warmth of the shop was stifling now. Their hands trembled as they reached for the new clothes Right Hand had picked.

“Are you okay?” Right Hand asked, voice quieter now.

Whumpee let out a breath. “Yes.”

They both knew that was a lie.

Right Hand didn’t press further. They never did.

Whumpee appreciated that. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe they wanted Right Hand to push, to demand answers, to force them to acknowledge what they were feeling instead of letting them sink further into this hollow, detached space they’d been inhabiting. Maybe they wanted Right Hand to tell what to feel. Or what they would feel if something like this happened before.

But Right Hand simply tood there. “You can change in the back.”

Whumpee nodded and stepped behind the curtain at the back of the shop. The fabric was rough between their calloused fingers as they unfastened the cloak, letting it slip from their shoulders.

They hesitated before looking down at themselves. The tunic they wore was loose, slipping over their collarbones and hanging awkwardly at their sides. Too thin. Too hollowed out. They turned away from the sight and reached for the new clothes, avoiding looking to their own eyes or body as they changed.

The fabric was warmer. A little heavy. But it fit—better than expected, at least. They weren’t sure they liked it, but they didn’t have the energy to care.

When they stepped back out, Right Hand glanced over them, nodding in approval. “Better.”

Whumpee just hummed.

The shopkeeper gave them a small, unreadable smile as she accepted the payment from Right Hand. They stepped outside again, bracing against the cold. The children had scattered, their voices distant now, carried away on the wind.

“Where to now?” Whumpee asked, voice quieter than before.

Right Hand didn’t answer immediately. Their fingers twitched slightly before they exhaled and turned to Whumpee.

“We’ll head back soon. But let’s walk a little longer.”

Whumpee wasn’t sure if that was for their sake or Right Hand’s. Either way, they nodded. The air was sharp, crisp with the lingering bite of winter, but their new clothes helped ward off the worst of it.

People passed by, some glancing, some not. Whumpee kept their gaze low, but they felt the stares. Less of the pity from the shopkeeper, more of the unspoken weight of recognition. Some curious, some wary. None of them spoke.

“They admired you,” Right Hand said, trying to assure Whumpee. “You were a hero.”

A bitter taste curled at the back of Whumpee’s throat. They didn’t understand how. Didn’t understand why. Whumpee wasn't a hero. What they saw wasn't supposed to be a memory of a hero.

“They shouldn’t,” Whumpee said, voice colder than intended.

Right Hand was quiet for a moment before speaking. “Maybe. But belief isn’t something you get to choose for others.”

Whumpee had no response to that. They just focused on walking, breathing. If that memory was just a moment, they wanted none of it.

The streets grew quieter the further they went. The market sounds faded behind them, replaced by the rustle of bare branches and the occasional distant sound of a door closing. The path back to the hut loomed ahead, the space that had become theirs seeming too suffocating.

Whumpee’s steps slowed.

Right Hand noticed. “We can stay out a little longer,” they offered.

Whumpee almost said yes. Almost let themselves believe that lingering in the cold, in the open, would make a difference. But the exhaustion settled deep, a weight they couldn’t shake.

“No,” they murmured. “Let’s go back.”

The walk home was silent, save for the crunch of boots against frozen earth. When they reached the hut, Whumpee hesitated at the door, fingers brushing against the wood. Something about crossing that threshold felt heavier than it should have.

Right Hand didn’t rush them. Just waited, ever patient.

Finally, Whumpee exhaled and stepped inside. The warmth was immediate, almost stifling after the cold outside. The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the small space.

Whumpee sat on the edge of the bed, staring at their hands. They still felt the ghost of that small child’s fingers wrapping around their wrist. Still heard the stories, the misplaced admiration.

Right Hand moved around quietly, stoking the fire, setting their things aside. After a while, Whumpee spoke.

“The kids called me something.”

Right Hand glanced at them. “Did they?”

Whumpee nodded, hesitant. “They called me Leader.”

Something flickered across Right Hand’s face—too fast to catch. Their hands stilled where they had been tending the fire, just for a second.

Whumpee watched them carefully. “Why?”

Right Hand took a slow breath, leaning back against the wall. Their expression remained unreadable, but their voice was careful when they finally answered. “It was a title. One you earned.”

Whumpee frowned. “I don’t… remember earning anything.”

Silence stretched between them. Right Hand’s jaw tightened before they finally sighed and ran a hand down their face. “Look… I grew up under Leader. And Leader was—” They stopped, shaking their head. “It’s complicated.”

Whumpee’s fingers curled into the fabric of their new clothes. “It can't be more complicated than this."

Right Hand hesitated. They looked at Whumpee for a long moment, weighing something. Then, quietly, they said, “Leader wasn’t just a title. It was your name. Your identity. You… took the title and made sure you filled the title.”

Whumpee barely felt like a person, much less someone who had led anything. The idea of them leaving a mark too deep that it pained to talk about the loss…

Right Hand continued, voice softer now. “You were… everything. The one who led us, protected us, built something out of nothing. We all followed you. We believed in you.”

Right Hand’s bit their lip, schoolimg their expression to unreadable again. They looked down, fingers twitching slightly. “Now, you don’t remember. And I don’t want to break you by forcing it all back too fast. You… protected us from many things. Many unpleasant things."

Whumpee stared at them, mind reeling. A thousand thoughts raced, colliding and tangling together into something incomprehensible. It felt like grasping at smoke—fragments of emotion, flashes of meaning, but nothing solid, nothing they could hold onto. Their breath came shallow, fingers twitching slightly where they gripped their cloak. Right Hand's face flickered between now and a younger one, looping over and over, but none of it fit. None of it felt real. None of it felt like them. 

Finally, they whispered, “I don’t feel like a leader.”

Right Hand gave a weak, almost wistful smile. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t.”

The words settled between them, heavy with something unspoken. Whumpee wanted to argue, wanted to deny it, but they felt drained.

Right Hand didn’t push further. They should have.

Whumpee let out a slow breath and leaned back against the bed. They didn’t understand. They weren’t sure they wanted to.

-•-

The slow trust they built in a week has vanished after their trip to the town. Nightmares returned, and they woke up crying a few times. They couldn't go on like that. Right Hand had said they would leave for a hunt today, so they were on their own.

Whumpee stood shakily, avoiding the mirror again. They fed the fire in the small kitchenette, wrapping themselves with the cape again. It smelt Right Hand. It smelt home. And Whumpee needed that. Needed that to pull themselves together because this wasn't them.

Whumpee was supposed to be strong. It was clear. The way they walked, the way they sat or slept, all screamed of a warrior. That was the reason of nothing clicking into place. They had been building back strength from a curse, Healer had said once they came. It had been a short visit, because Whumpee was learning too many things in too little time, their mind unable to keep up. Healer and Right Hand only tried to help, Whumpee knew, but it wasn’t working. Remembering hurt Whumpee, and not remembering hurt Healer.

Though Whumpee began appreciating Right Hand. Healer was too worried, too interested. And Whumpee couldn’t keep up with that. Still, they would prefer Healer being around to… this.

Being alone. The hut was too silent.

They needed something to do. Something to occupy their hands, their mind, anything to keep from spiralling further. Their gaze drifted to the small pile of ingredients Right Hand had left. It wasn’t much—some dried meat, root vegetables, a few herbs—but it was enough to make something simple. Something warm.

Whumpee busied themselves with preparation, gripping the knife tighter than necessary as they cut through the vegetables. The rhythmic slicing was almost soothing, the quiet crackle of the fire a steady backdrop. They tossed the ingredients into a pot to boil, pulling the meat in front of them. They squeezed the knife tighter, the motion too familiar and uncomfortable. Blood oozed to the counter. Whumpee could feel a headache start. They couldn’t start remembering noe. They didn't want to. But blood was important. Blood was honor, blood was being siblings, blood was smiling and laughing together, mourning together because they were only soldiers. Soldiers no one cared but Whumpee Cared, Leader cared.

Whumpee jumped with a sound.

The knife clattered from their hand. Their breath caught as a sudden wave crashed over them. The firelight dimmed, shadows stretching unnaturally along the walls. The warmth was gone, replaced by an aching cold seeping into their bones.

Darkness coiled at the edges of their vision, thick and suffocating. And then—

They were falling.

Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe the world was shifting around them, pulling them into something deeper, something unseen.

A voice—

Low. Resonant. Seeping into their very core.

“You are not meant to be weak.”

The darkness surrounded them, pressing against their skin like a living thing. There was no fire, no hut, no world beyond this. Just the void. Just the voice.

Whumpee swallowed, their throat dry. “Leave me alone,” they tried.

The voice almost chuckled, though it held no true warmth.

“You misunderstand,” it said smoothly. “I have always been here. And I will always be here.”

The shadows curled tighter, drawing Whumpee deeper into the void. The ground—if there even was any—felt unsteady beneath their feet. Their pulse pounded in their ears.

“You fight against yourself,” the voice continued, dripping with something that might have been amusement. “You break and rebuild, but you deny what you are.”

Whumpee clenched their hands into fists. “I don’t even know what I am.”

A pause. A shift. The darkness rippled, and for a moment, Whumpee thought they saw something—shapes in the abyss, echoes of movements long forgotten. A battle. A leader standing tall. Power thrumming in their veins.

Their power.

“You do,” the voice whispered. “You simply refuse to remember.”

Pain lanced through Whumpee’s skull. They stumbled, gasping. The memories clawed at them, half-formed and fleeting, slipping between their fingers the moment they reached for them.

“Enough,” they choked out, pressing their palms against their temples.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the darkness shattered.

Whumpee collapsed onto the cold floor of the hut, their breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire still crackled in the hearth, the scent of their half-finished meal still in the air. It now only twisted their stomach.

They curled into themselves, shivering, even though the fire burned bright. They couldn't move.

The silence pressed in, suffocating. Their breath hitched, their chest tight as the weight of it all settled over them. Tears slipped down their face before they could stop them, their body shaking with each silent sob.

They didn’t know how much time passed before the door creaked open.

“Whumpee?”

Right Hand’s voice camr. Sharp with concern. Whumpee wished they could follow the footsteps. Right Hand kneeled before them, putting their hand on their face. Whumpee flinched but didn’t pull away. Couldn’t.

Right Hand crouched beside them. “I'm sorry,” they murmured. “I shouldn't have left you alone.”

Whumpee couldn’t answer. Their throat burned, their hands still trembling. They curled in tighter, pressing their forehead to their knees.

Right Hand sighed, sitting down beside them. “You did this to me after my first kill.” they tried, voice quieter. “Gave me some space and it backfired. You didn't leave my side for the following week."

Whumpee shuddered. But slowly they let themselves lean onto Right Hand.

"Was I strong?" They asked, instead of letting Right Hand tell the story. This wasn't the same. And it felt too private, one that should stay between Right Hand and Leader, not… not Whumpee.

Right Hand hesitated. Their fingers curled slightly against Whumpee’s shoulder, as if weighing the truth in their palm.

"You were," they said finally, the words soft but firm. "But not in the way you think."

Whumpee swallowed. Their throat still burned, and the shadows of that voice still clung to their skin like oil, but they forced themselves to listen. To hear.

"You weren’t strong because you were fearless," Right Hand continued. "Or because you never faltered. You were strong because you cared. Because you carried all of us when we couldn't stand on our own."

Something twisted inside Whumpee’s chest. They wanted to reject it—to say I don’t remember, that wasn’t me—but the words felt hollow. Their hands still trembled. Their head still ached.

"How far I'd go for you?" Whumpee asked. "For all of you."

Right Hand’s breath caught, just for a moment. Their grip on Whumpee’s shoulder tightened, then softened. “You would have died for us,” they admitted. “And we would have died for you.”

Whumpee exhaled shakily. That should have felt comforting. It didn’t.

The fire crackled beside them, but its warmth barely reached. Their body still trembled, the weight of that voice lingering like a phantom touch.

Right Hand shifted, hesitating before speaking again. “You always thought strength meant sacrifice. That to lead, you had to bear it all alone. And at the end, you did."

Whumpee closed their eyes. The words settled deep, stirring something raw inside them. They could imagine it—a battlefield, faces smeared with dirt and blood. Voices shouting orders, calling their name—not Whumpee. Leader.

Their stomach twisted.

"The curse," they whispered, barely a breath of sound.

Right Hand nodded.

The fire crackled, its warmth an afterthought against the cold creeping through Whumpee’s limbs. Right Hand’s presence was steady, grounding, but it didn’t stop the weight pressing down on their chest.

"You were supposed to be dead. To make up for your lack of strength at that time with your own life," Right Hand murmured. "We couldn't lose you. So we… we had to."

Whumpee exhaled shakily, the meaning sinking in. The images, the memories, were fragmented—flashes of pain, of desperate hands reaching, of voices screaming their name. But beneath it all, the sense of inevitability remained. They were meant to die, but something had stopped it. Leader's—their troops stopped it.

"What did you do?"

Right Hand hesitated, fingers tightening against their knee. The firelight flickered over their face, casting shadows over the exhaustion carved deep into their features. "We used your power."

Whumpee's breath hitched. Their power. The force thrumming beneath their skin, the thing that had once been second nature—now nothing but an aching void.

"That's why—" Their voice cracked. "That's why I can't remember."

Right Hand nodded slowly. "It was the cost. The only way to bring you back. Your power demanded something in return."

A sharp pain lanced through Whumpee’s skull, memories clawing at the edges of their mind, slipping through their grasp like sand. A battlefield. A final stand. Their body crumpling to the ground, the rush of warmth spreading across their chest—

They flinched. Right Hand reached out, steadying them with a hand on their shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Right Hand whispered. "I didn’t know if you’d ever wake up. But we couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t."

Whumpee stared into the fire, its glow blurring through the haze of unshed tears. They wanted to be angry. They wanted to blame Right Hand, blame their troops, blame whoever had twisted fate to force them back into a life they didn’t remember.

But they couldn’t. Because deep down, they knew that they would have done the same.

"I'm not who you wanted to save."

Right Hand’s grip on their shoulder tightened, just slightly. "I have hope that you'll remember. You never let us down."

[fallenwhumpee]

Back Home

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Masterlist •

Warnings: None.

Leader barely hesitated before replying, forcing a chuckle as they flexed their fingers, testing the stiffness in their bandaged arm. "Slipped while checking around," they said, voice even. "Landed wrong. Nothing serious."

Right Hand narrowed their eyes, sharp and searching, before crossing their arms. "You slipped?"

"Frosting is a thing," Leader reasoned with a small shrug, ignoring the way their ribs protested the movement. "Didn't want to wake anyone for something so minor."

Right Hand’s lips pressed into a thin line, but they didn’t challenge it—yet. Instead, they grabbed Leader’s arm without warning, peeling the cloth back just enough to see the wound underneath. Their fingers were firm, careful, but Leader still flinched at the touch.

"Looks way too deep to be minor," Right Hand muttered. "I'll get Healer."

"No." Leader all but ordered. "I put on some herbs and wrapped it. Didn't hit my head, just sore from impact. Healer won't be able to do anything else anyway, no need to sour their mood."

Right Hand exhaled sharply, frustration clear on their face before sighing. "Fine."

"Good. Now, wake the others up, we're leaving."

Right Hand stared at Leader for a while, but eventually pulled back. They turned away, muttering under their breath as they moved back toward the tent to wake others up.

Leader let out a slow breath, steadying themselves. Their body ached, exhaustion creeping in at the edges, but there was no time to dwell. They needed to get going. Whatever had happened last night wasn't over.

The camp stirred as Right Hand roused the others. Leader watched from far as Healer sat up, rubbing sleep from their eyes, while Youngest stretched with a yawn, their breath visible in the cold morning air. Within minutes, they were packing up, rolling furs and dousing the last embers of the fire.

Leader tightened their cloak around their shoulders, their gaze stuck toward the treeline. The forest loomed, quiet and unmoving, yet they couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. They bit their tongue and forced themselves to calm down. They wouldn't let fear dictate their steps.

As the group started to move, Right Hand fell into step beside Leader, arms crossed. "You look like you hadn't sleep at all. If you start swaying, I'm letting Healer baby you. We can even build a sledge for you."

Leader huffed. "I'd rather walk on broken legs than let Healer fuss over me."

Right Hand gave a pointed look at Leader’s arm. "You're halfway there already."

"Keep laughing," Leader muttered and rolled their eyes but didn’t argue. The sun had barely risen, and they had a long road ahead. They avoided looking into the forest, keeping their head down. They could see the shadow watching them, just at the edge of their vision. It never moved, never came closer. But as they walked, it never faded, either.

They walked for hours, the cold biting even over their cloak but manageable. Conversation was sparse at first, but as the road stretched on, Youngest started chatting about small things—old stories, the last warm meal they'd had, a song they'd heard in a town once. The light chatter eased the tension, allowing Leader to focus on the path ahead rather than the unease lingering behind them.

Eventually, the road led them to a village nestled between the hills, smoke curling from chimneys, the scent of fresh bread carrying on the wind. It wasn’t large, but it was sturdy, well-kept. A place for refuge.

As they reached the outskirts, a rider approached, guild insignia sewn on their cloak. Leader stepped forward when they were asked, accepting the sealed message with a curt nod. They broke the rope of the seal, opening the scroll. They passed the paper around and watched the faces fall one by one. It seemed like it was going to take time to get back home.

Right Hand buried their head to Leader's back. With frustration, the motion making Leader's bones ache. Right Hand stayed limp kike that for a few moments as they digested the new orders. Then, they rose up unhappily.Leader only sighed, rolling their shoulders. "I’ll see if there’s any work here to keep us occupied."

Youngest hummed thoughtfully. "As long as it’s not bandit hunting, I wouldn’t mind."

"I’ll see what I can find," Leader said, already scanning the village square. This wasn’t what they had planned. "But you don't have to, if you won't get bored without anything to do all day."

Healer perked up. "Maybe the village healer needs an extra hand."

Leader nodded. "Fine by me. Youngest, go look for a room for us to stay. I'll check the tavern for anything we can help with."

Right Hand pulled back and trailed after Youngest and Healer, heading to an inn as Leader headed the opposite way.

Leader liked village stays. They liked how there were open jobs that anyone could take or that got distributed around at the end of the day. It was quite unfortunate that the outsiders always drew the short stick, but it was a reasonable price since everyone tried to make their stay easier.

Leader stepped into the tavern, shaking off the stiffness on their joints as the scent of ale and stew filled their senses. The room was warm, lit by the crackling fireplace in the corner, almost empty. Leader stood there to enjoy the warmth for a moment, but the cold  hovering over them didn't go away. A few heads turned at their entrance, eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary before returning to their drinks.

Leader approached the barkeep. They didn't want to draw too much attention to themselves. The barkeep was wiping down the counter, but raised their head once they heard Leader's footsteps.

"Looking for work." Leader offered a smile. "Something to keep my group busy while we're in town."

The barkeep studied them for a moment before nodding toward a board near the entrance. "Usual postings are there. Farm work, repairs, escort requests, watching. Nothing too dangerous."

Leader hummed and started reading the board.

As expected, the first posting was for a night watchman—keeping an eye on the village perimeter in case of wild animals or troublemakers. A simple enough job, but not one Leader was excited about. They were still cold and achy, but they had a feeling they would be safe as long as they stayed in the village. And two was enough for the job, in case anyone wanted to rest.

The second job was an escort request for an elderly herbalist who needed someone to accompany them to the forest for rare plants. The note mentioned that the herbalist preferred someone quick on their feet, able to handle "unexpected encounters." Leader wasn’t sure if that meant wolves, thieves, or something worse.

The third was a repair job—help was needed reinforcing a damaged section of the village palisade. A recent storm had weakened the wooden stakes, leaving a vulnerable gap. Heavy labor, but steady work.

The fourth was an unusual request for assistance at the village granary. According to the posting, something—or someone—had been stealing from the food stores, but there were never any signs of forced entry. The villagers were growing uneasy, and the granary keeper was offering payment for anyone who could figure out how the thief was getting in.

Leader exhaled, considering their options. The watchman job was the most familiar, but exhaustion clawed at them. The escort job was unpredictable. Repairs were hard work, and their body was already protesting every movement. And the granary theft? That could be anything.

They turned back toward the barkeep. "Any of these in urgent need?"

The barkeep leaned on the counter. "The watchman job is always open, but the granary keeper is getting desperate. If you’re looking to make quick coin, that might be your best bet."

Leader clicked their tongue and stared the papers for a while.

[fallenwhumpee]

hi hi! would you mind writing a little something about Leader Whumpee working himself into the ground trying to keep his team safe? or like, the adrenaline crash post-mission after he’s fought way harder than he should have for the sake of his team?

no rush nor pressure! ♥

[🪴 anon (I don’t know if that emoji’s already taken)]

Hii! It's not taken. And oh I love this too much. Please enjoy.

Warnings: inexplicit injury.

"Roll call," Leader forced out to the earpiece. They couldn't hear anything else than their heartbeat. They had to get a hold of themselves, but their breath weren't enough, their arms shaking as they took support from the closest surface. They were drained, but at least they had managed to be the distraction, even if that wasn't the plan. Whumper had fled, but Leader had bigger concerns. Like their team. Dragging main forces didn't guarantee their team a safe spot.

"Right Hand here. Still standing."

Relief flooded onto Leader. They dropped down to the floor. Adrenaline crush, they thought bitterly. But it was worth it if they got to know the team was fine.

"Youngest here. I'm fine. Leader—?"

"Medic. No injuries."

"Tech. System's a mess, but we're operational. Others are here too. Leader, your status?"

Leader exhaled slowly, pressing to the wall as they evened their breaths.

"All good. Took a hit, but nothing major. Just need a mokent." They made sure their voice was level, steady. "You all regroup and hold position. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous in a few."

"You sure?" Right Hand again, and Leader could practically hear the try to sound measured.

"Positive," Leader lied smoothly. "Stay put. If Whumper doubles back, I need you ready."

For a moment, the silence was too long. Then, grudgingly, "Copy that."

It was a temporary victory. Leader knew Right Hand wasn’t convinced. They knew Medic would follow up. But it bought them time. Time to get their legs under them, to push forward before their body made the decision for them.

One foot forward. Then another. They could make it. Just a little further.

By the time they reached the rendezvous point, the team was already scanning the area. Leader slowed their steps and forced their posture straight despite the ache settling deep in their bones. They had to look put together. They had to make this convincing.

Right Hand was the first to spot them, eyes narrowing. "Took you long enough."

"Had to be sure I wasn’t being followed," Leader replied easily, keeping their breathing controlled. The pain on their side screamed with every step, but they ignored it. "What’s the situation?"

"Clear for now," Tech answered. "But we should move. You sure you’re good?"

Leader ignored. "Let’s go."

Medic shot them a few sidelong glances, and Youngest, frowning, stepped a little closer than usual.

"You’re walking weird," Youngest muttered. "You sure you’re—"

"Tired," Leader cut in smoothly. "Like the rest of you. Let’s just get home."

The team exchanged glances but didn’t push further. That was good. They could hold it together until they got back. They had to.

The return to base was quiet, the weight of the mission settling over them. But as they stepped into the safety of home, Leader felt their body beginning to betray them. The dull ache in their ribs had sharpened. Their breaths came just a little too short. They fought to keep their posture straight, to keep their steps steady, but every movement sent another wave of pain rolling through them.

"Leader?" Right Hand’s voice cut through the quiet. Too sharp. Too perceptive. Sometimes their willingness to attend was too much for Leader.

"What?" Leader asked anyway, keeping their voice level.

"You’re pale," Tech observed. "Like, really pale."

"We just got out of a fight," Leader deflected, rolling their shoulders as if they weren’t stiff with pain. "I'll be back in shape for the debrief in the morning."

They turned toward their quarters, already willing their body to hold out just a little longer. They could make it that far. Just a few more steps.

Then the pain flared, sudden and brutal. Their stomach twisted, their breath caught—and before they could stop themselves, they staggered.

"Leader!" Right Hand was at their side in an instant, hands hovering as if unsure whether to reach out.

"Just—" Leader swallowed against the rising nausea, forcing a weak smirk. "Guess I overdid it."

Leader didn't realise that they were being surrounded by the team. Their vision blurred again, but this time they clung to Right Hand.

"That’s not overdoing it," Medic said sharply. "That's ignoring yourself."

"I’m fine," Leader started, but their voice wavered, and their legs followed suit. The room tilted, and before they could brace themselves, Right Hand lowered them to the ground.

"You’re not fine," Right Hand said, voice tight with frustration. "Sit before you fall."

Leader wanted to argue, but the ground was already slipping away. They were guided to lay down before they could hit the floor.

"I just need—" Leader started, but Medic was already crouching beside them, pressing fingers to their wrist, checking vitals.

"You need medical attention," Medic corrected. "Your heart rate’s off. Something’s wrong. How long were you going to keep this up?"

"Enough for it to pass," Leader muttered. They tried to offer a smile, but it fell away as another wave of dizziness hit.

"Idiot," Youngest muttered, running a hand through their hair in frustration. "You could've just said something, you know."

"Where’s the fun in that?" Their body felt heavier by the second, exhaustion hitting harder than they wanted to admit.

"Yeah, hilarious," Right Hand said, voice tight. "Just keep your eyes open."

"I’m trying," Leader admitted, blinking. "No promises."

Youngest shifted closer, watching them with something too close to fear. "You scared me," they muttered. "You scared all of us."

Leader exhaled slowly, trying to ease the weight pressing against their ribs. "Didn’t mean to."

"Too late."

Right Hand adjusted their grip to keep Leader upright. "Stop pushing yourself. We’ve got you."

Leader wanted to respond, wanted to brush it off with one last joke, but the fatigue was too much. They let their eyes close, just for a moment. Their team had them.