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whump-about-it · 1 year

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Smoke/Shared Clothing/ Bloodstains

@whumpril day23 (a little late)

CW: blood, smoking, conditioned whumpee, aggressive caretaking, clueless caretaker, hidden injuries, mentions of vomiting (no details).

When Friend walked into Caretaker’s apartment they were neither surprised to see Whumpee there, nor that they were wearing Caretaker’s clothing.

Whumpee had been oscillating between Friend and Caretaker’s couches since Whumper had finally agreed to leave them alone. Considering Whumpee had not been at Friend's that morning they were honestly relieved to find them at Caretaker’s. As for the clothing, Whumpee had recently taken up the habit of wearing Caretaker’s sweaters and t-shirts. They probably would have worn Friend’s too, except Friend hadn’t been fond of the clothes sharing the one time Whumpee had tried it. Caretaker apparently didn’t mind because these days Whumpee seemed to be wearing their clothes more than their own. Caretaker was closer to Whumpee’s size anyway, so though Whumpee was swimming in their clothing, they weren’t drowning in them like they had been with Friend's.

What did surprise Friend was that Whumpee was smoking.

They were leaning out the open kitchen window, one of Caretaker’s sweatshirts rolled up to their elbows, with a small tendril of smoke rising from the half spent cigarette between their fingers. They turned to look at Friend when they walked in the door. Their face was pale with dark circles under there eyes and they gave Friend a half smile in way of a welcome before turning back to the view out the window. Taking another drag from their cigarette.

“I thought you quit.” Friend tried not to make the statement sound accusatory. They’d been the one who got Whumpee hooked on smoking in the first place after all. Years ago, before any of them could imagine what the future would bring. Caretaker had hounded them both for the smoking until it eventually got the better of Friend. Whumpee had taken longer though. It had only been in the last couple of months, again since Whumper agreed to leave them alone, that they’d given the habit up.

“It’s been a long night” Whumpee shrugged and stubbed out the cigarette on the windowsill.

Friend nodded and went to join them at the window. They had been tipped off that something was wrong when Caretaker had called in sick to work the day before. The one time Caretaker had answered their texts they had said they thought they might have food poisoning and not to worry. That morning though, when Caretaker had called in sick to work again, and Whumpee wasn't around like Friend would have expected them to be if Caretaker was ill, they figured they should probably check in.

"How is Caretaker?"

"They've been better" The statement didn't mean much coming from Whumpee. They had always been the monarch of understatements. Friend could distinctly remember a time when they had described a cut that had required stitches and a blood transfusion as nothing more than a 'scratch'. They had also tried convincing Caretaker and Friend that it had come from falling in the shower, but that was a whole different issue.

"They're sleeping now," Whumpee explained "But they were up half the night vomiting and the other half hallucinating. They thought I was their uncle at one point, which I didn't even know they had any."

"That doesn't sound like food poisoning"

Whumpee shook their head.

"I think its the flu, but if there's no blood involved I'm really at a loss with medical stuff."

Friend swallowed and tried not to think about those years when they and Caretaker had been out of contact with Whumpee. All those injuries Whumpee had had to treat on their own in the dark closet of a room Whumper had kept them in. Caretaker knew more of the details than Friend did. And though Friend would have been there to listen if Whumpee wanted to tell them, they didn't envy Caretaker being the one Whumpee had turned too with that information.

"You should call me next time" Friend didn't know anything about treating the flu either, but they and Whumpee could have at least muddled through together. Whumpee shook there head though, stiffling a yawn as they did.

"You have a job. Anyway, I figure it's pay back for all the times the two of you were there for me when I couldn't get up off the floor."

Friend sighed and put a reassuring hand on Whumpee’s back. Despite the light touch Whumpee’s whole body tensed and Friend remembered a second to late that they didn’t like being touched anymore.

“Sorry” They removed their hand and Whumpee leaned more heavily on the windowsill, working to even out their breathing. It was a more dramatic reaction than they’d had in a while, but they also looked ready to collapse with how tired they were, so Friend didn’t think much of it.

“I was going to say that you don’t owe us anything, Whumpee.”

Caretaker had always done more peeling Whumpee off the floor than Friend had. But Friend was sure they felt the same way. Caretaker was the kind of person who would give you the shirt off their back (clearly, as Whumpee was already wearing it).

Whumpee pursed their lips and nodded in a way that Friend knew meant they didn’t believe them. That could be a conversation for another time though. Whumpee really did look awful and now that Friend was thinking about it, if Caretaker had come down with something contagious, Whumpee could very well be catching it.

“Why don’t you get some rest” Friend nodded towards the couch behind them in the living room. “I’m gonna go check on Caretaker.”

“Sure” Whumpee murmured. “Just want another smoke first.”

Friend knew they probably should have said something about that. But they really had no ground to stand on so they let it go and turned away from Whumpee towards the hall where Caretaker’s bedroom was. A split second later though they turned back.

Something had caught their eye.

The spot on Caretaker’s sweatshirt where Friend had accidentally touched Whumpee was sticking to their back in almost a perfect outline of their hand. Not only that but the spot where the heel of their hand would have been now had an odd brown stain against the green of the fabric.

Friend swallowed thickly, a familiar panic and confusion curling in their stomach.

“Whumpee?” They asked “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Whumpee turned to look at them. Pasting an expression of confusion on their face as they did. Looking at them directly for the first time Friend could see that Whumpee wasn’t just pale. They were colorless. And their dark eyes were blood shot and red rimmed from crying.

Friend could feel bile rising in their throat. Without much thinking they stepped forward and grabbed Whumpee by their elbow, forcing them to turn back towards the window. Caretaker would have been gentler. They would have had Whumpee sit down and coaxed the truth out of them with calm words and reassurances. But Friend wasn't Caretaker.

Their ears were ringing as they pulled up the hem of Caretaker's sweatshirt. Whumpee was wearing a black t-shirt underneath it, but Friend could see dark red, still moist stains at the waist band of their grey sweatpants.

Whumpee let out a yelp of protest, but didn't resist as Friend grabbed at the t-shirt. They only pulled it up as far as they needed to confirm what they were fearing. The few inches of visible skin on Whumpee's lower back were covered with bruises, welts, and weeping cuts, overlapping the already intricate map of healed scars.

"Whumpee. What did you do?" Friend at the very least managed to keep their voice a stern calm. Whumpee was beginning to shake under Friend's grasp. They were leaning heavily on the windowsill, gripping it with white knuckles. Friend suddenly felt the need to hold onto Whumpee and let go of their clothing, instead grabbing them by their elbows again.

"Caretaker had a fever of 104" Whumpee answered. Their voice was shaking as much as their body. "They needed medicine. I didn't know where else to go."

Friend had the ware-with-all to pull Whumpee's weight towards themselves, right before their knees buckled and the two of them collapsed to the floor, gripping each other as Whumpee let out a sudden sob of pain.

"You call me, Whumpee" Friend insisted, gathering Whumpee against them trying to avoid aggravating God knows what injuries they had. "You should have called me. Not Whumper. You never have to see them again."

Whumpee began to sob harder.

"I just wanted to help" they moaned "I wanted to be useful for once. You guys were never supposed to find out."

Friend's heart broke. They pulled Whumpee's head into their chest and began to stroke their hair. They suddenly regret their anger and how aggressive they had been.

"You were helping. You are useful. You didn't have to go to Whumper for that. Being here for Caretaker is enough. They appreciate it, I promise you. They'll tell you when they're feeling better."

Whumpee began to sob even harder at Friend's words. Friend kissed them on the top of their head and continued to stroke their hair until they had calmed a little. It didn't take long. Even at their worst, Whumpee had never been much of a crier.

"Was this the first time you've contacted them?" Friend asked when they thought Whumpee was able to answer.

"Yea" Whumpee nodded against Friend's chest. Friend breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay, you didn't make any deals with them did you?"

"Just for the medicine."

"And all they wanted was to hurt you one last time?"

Whumpee let out a single sob as a response and Friend kissed them on the head again.

"Have you cleaned yourself up yet?"

Whumpee shook their head against Friend's chest.

"Tried," They mumbled. "Can't reach"

"Alright. Do you think you can stand? If you can get to the table I can clean you up. You'll probably have to talk me through it though."

Whumpee lifted their head from Friend's chest and looked at them with watery eyes.

"I think I'll need help getting up" They admit sheepishly. "Someone should check on Caretaker. It's almost time for them to take the medicine again."

"Don't worry. I'll check up on Caretaker." Friend reassured them as they helped Whumpee up off the ground. "I'll grab you a change of clothing too. There's too much blood on these."

Whumpee nodded and let Friend lead them to the kitchen table.

#whump #whump drabble #whumblr #whumpril2023 #whumprilday23 #caretaker x whumpee #whumpee x friend #sick caretaker #injured #hiding injuries #sharing clothes #bloodstains #smoke #recovering whumpee

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drabbles-mc · 1 year

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Nothing To Tell

Tig Trager & OFC (Claire Morrow)

For Day 23 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: bloodstains / sharing clothes

Warnings: 18+, angst, mentions of blood, language

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Anj and I have clocked so many hours talking about Claire and until this I never felt like I had a good idea for a small fic to put her in. So, you know, shout-out to Whumpril for allowing this girl to make her debut. I love her.

SOA Taglist: @espieviolet99 @littlekittymeow @i-just-read-stuff @justreblogginfics @withmyteeth @buckybarneshairpullingkink @paintballkid711 @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @mijagif @frattsparty @winchestershiresauce @beardburnsupersoldiers @darqchilddaydreamz @choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @yourwinchesterbros @nessamc @garbinge @passionatewrites (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Despite the fact that Tig’s eyes were open, that his gun was in his hand, that he was moving down the stairs towards his front door, he still felt like he was asleep. He wasn’t, of course, because the pounding against his front door had made sure of that. It was incessant, and if he had felt a little more awake he would’ve been yelling at whoever it was to knock it off, but he just had to settle for grumbling under his breath. Holding back a deep sigh, he flipped the deadbolt on the door and pulled it open, gun held tightly at his side.

Of all the people he thought he was going to be opening the door to, Claire wasn’t one of them. It was late, she should’ve been home, and she also had a key to let herself in with. All of those thoughts were running in the background of Tig’s sleep-addled brain as he looked at her, trying to register the sight in front of him.

Her eyes were puffy and red, makeup smeared beneath them. Now that she wasn’t trying to break his door down, her arms were folded tightly across her body, trembling even though it wasn’t all that cold out. Her hair was a mess—however she’d had it tied up before, all that was left in the ponytail now were a few locks of it, the rest around her shoulders and out of control. She shifted nervously from one foot to the other as she stood on his front step, glancing back over her shoulder for a moment before turning back to look at him again. Her bottom lip trembled as she opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to find any kind of words to say even though she was coming up empty.

Even with the deep breath she took, her voice still came out small and shaky as she finally got herself to say, “Please don’t tell my dad.”

Confusion crossed his face at that. Shaking his head slightly, he reached out and gently looped his arm around her, trying not to take it personally when she flinched at his touch as he guided her inside. His voice was soft from more than just sleep as he told her, “Get in here.”

He did a quick scan of the street before stepping back into the house himself, putting the deadbolt back in place. When he turned around, he found Claire standing in the middle of his living room in much the same position she was on his step. It’d been a long time since he had seen her looking so rattled about anything. Fear never seemed to sink its claws into her, even though most times it should’ve.

“What’s going on?” he asked, tucking his gun into the back of his waistband.

She shook her head, running her hands back through her hair. “They can’t know. You gotta,” she paced in front of him, “you gotta promise you’re not gonna tell my mom and dad.”

“Claire—”

“Or Jax,” she cut him off, her voice trembling. “God. I didn’t even—” she dropped her face into her hands for a moment, “Fuck.”

He stepped in front of her so that she wouldn’t be able to keep walking when she finally lifted her face from her hands. He wanted to lift her head, make her look him in the eyes. He wanted to hold her, but he felt like she might shatter if he did.

“Claire,” he repeated, “talk to me, baby. What’s going on?”

She finally looked up at him, tears on her cheeks. She finally let her arms drop to her sides, and that was when Tig saw the blood splattered along the neckline and chest of her light grey t-shirt. “Please don’t tell them.”

Tig had never heard her plead like that, like she actually meant it. “I can’t tell anyone anything,” he reached out and gently thumbed the tears off her cheek, not saying anything about the way she recoiled slightly at the gesture, “if you don’t tell me what happened. So,” he brought his hand to rest on her shoulder, “what happened?”

She sniffled, shaking her head. “They told me. They told me not to get involved. And I,” she stepped away, giving herself room to start pacing again as she spoke, “I didn’t listen. That’s what they’re gonna tell me, too, you know. They’re just gonna tell me that if I had fucking listened—”

“Don’t worry about them,” Tig interrupted her spiraling train of thought. Whatever she went through, and she was still worrying about the rest of them. “Gemma, Clay, Jax—fuck all them right now, okay?”

“Tig…” the lump in the back of her throat made it hard to speak, his name coming out weaker than she wanted it to.

He could see the way her eyes darted around, looking at him, scanning the room, glancing over at the door, going back to him, repeating the cycle all over again. The longer the two of them stood there, the more he realized that he might not be getting anything out of her for a while. As much as he hated being in the dark, he also knew that trying to drag it out of her wasn’t going to be good for either of them. Claire had never been anything other than an open book with him. She’d been that way her whole life: a chronic over-sharer, oftentimes to a fault. If she wasn’t telling him something, it wasn’t a choice for her—she just couldn’t do it.

“What am I doing?” The question rhetorical, forced out past a sob.

“You’re okay,” he said, not knowing at all if it was true. Stepping in, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug that she gladly collapsed into. Hooking his chin over her head, he ran his hand up and down her back. “You’re okay.”

She didn’t hug him back. She wanted to, but she couldn’t force herself to do it, like the amount of strength it would take to return the embrace was too much for her to exert in the moment. Her arms hung limply at her sides as she leaned against him, tears and makeup smearing across the shirt that he was wearing. She was glad for the reprieve, the comfort and care that she wouldn’t have gotten if she had gone home.

Tig didn’t know how long the two of them stood there like that before he finally asked, “You gonna stay?” He asked it like a question, but there was only one answer that he was going to accept.

She didn’t pull away, just nodding as she stayed pressed to him. “If that’s okay.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Of course it is.”

He finally pried himself away from her, hands still resting on the outsides of her arms. Claire couldn’t force herself to look him in the eyes for a moment, her gaze staying fixed on the floor. There was a brief moment when she thought about turning around and running back to her car. But there was no getting away from it. It was all going to come crashing down eventually.

“Can I borrow something to, you know,” she gestured to the blood smeared on her shirt.

Tig nodded. “I’ll grab you something.”

He was hardly gone for a minute before he reappeared with a shirt and a pair of sweatpants in his hands. Neither of them were really going to fit her, but they didn’t have blood on them so they were a step in the right direction. She was only going to wear them to sleep, after all, so he figured that she wasn’t really going to mind.

Handing them over to her, he said, “Go shower. I’ll,” he gestured to the couch, “get this ready for you.”

She didn’t know why fresh tears spilled over onto her cheeks as she nodded, but they did. Neither of them acknowledged them as she reached and took the clothes from him. “Thank you.”

Tig watched her as she slowly made her way off towards his bathroom. He waited until he heard the sound of the shower running before he went to grab an extra pillow and blankets for the couch. He was going through the motions of it all, realizing how long it had been since someone had turned up on his step looking for a safe place to stay. That’s not usually what anyone needed him for.

It wasn’t often that Claire came by for more than a drink and to complain about her brother. Both of those activities were things that Tig was more than happy to indulge in with her. But she never needed to hide out at his house. The more Tig thought about it, the last time she was there for anything close to this purpose, was when she was a kid. It wasn’t just her, though. Thomas was there, and so were Tig’s daughters. Jax had managed to talk his way into staying at Opie’s with Mary and Piney, which was just as well. Despite the circumstances of it all, Tig almost found himself smiling at the memory of it. No one told the kids why they were actually staying at Tig’s, so they all just treated it like a big sleepover. They were better off that way.

The smile on his face faded when he realized that Claire was the only one out of the four who was still around. Tig couldn’t remember the last time that Dawn or Fawn had crossed county lines into Charming, and everyone knew what had happened to Thomas. So it was just Claire, and it didn’t seem like she was much better off than the rest of them for having stayed.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her footsteps, the creak of the floorboards beneath her feet. Turning around, he saw her standing there in his clothes, hers balled up in her hands because she didn’t know where she should leave them. Despite his clothes not being the right size for her, Tig couldn’t help but to think that she still didn’t look as small as she did standing on his doorstep. She didn’t look okay yet, but she looked better. It was a start.

He wanted to ask how she was, but the answer was obvious. He also wanted to ask her again about what had happened, but she finally looked like she wasn’t waiting for someone to come kicking his door in after her, so he let it lie. Whatever the circumstances were, they wouldn’t change before morning.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she stepped in closer, her voice quiet, still unsteady. She didn’t know which part of it all she was really apologizing for. Maybe all of it.

He shook his head as he took the clothes from her, unsure of whether he should just toss them for her or wash them. “It’s okay.” He gave her a small smile. “Not the worst mess I’ve had to clean up.”

It got a weak laugh out of her as she shook her head. “Gross.”

They both chuckled for a moment, despite the exhaustion, all of the questions lingering above their heads. Tig let a few beats pass before asking, “Want me to stay down here?”

She shook her head, nose twitching to fight off the sniffle she could feel creeping up. “I’ll be okay.”

He studied her face. “You sure?”

She took a deep breath, trying her best to sound as certain as she usually did. “Yea.”

He didn’t want to push it, didn’t want to make things worse all over again, so he nodded. Stepping in, he gave her another hug, kissing the side of her head, not caring that her hair was still damp. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

She nodded as she hugged him back. “Thank you.”

He noticed the way that she wasn’t quite ready to let go yet, so he didn’t make her. Leaning his head against hers, he said, “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

She let out a shaky breath, but she still nodded. “Okay.”

#whumpril #whumpril2023 #whumprilday23 #bloodstains #sharing clothes #soa #sons of anarchy #soa imagine #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy imagine #tig trager #tig trager x oc #oc claire #oc claire morrow #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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