Cw: self-treatment, panic, cursing, resetting a dislocated joint
Caretaker's cellphone rang, Whumpee's name flashing on the screen. Unsuspecting of what was about to occur, they picked up and cheerily answered.
"Caretaker?" Whumpee asked in a small and breathless voice immediately cluing Caretaker in to what the call was about.
"Yyyyeessss?" Caretaker responded slowly.
"I uh, I fucked up. I fucked up bad." They wavered.
Caretaker's heart rate picked up.
"How bad?"
"Um..."
"Tell me. Please. In detail."
"I dislocated my knee and I've spent the past 30 minutes trying to reset it and I can't," Whumpee's voice broke, "it hurts." They were crying now.
"Ok, ok, it's going to be ok-"
"How do you know thaaaat?!"
"Because we're going to go to the hospital and make it ok. I'm going to pick you up, where are you?"
"My house, bottom of the steps. The door is unlocked," sniffled Whumpee.
