A whumper having the ability to create a time pocket or loop time and keep the whumpee there. To people that might be looking for them, they’re only gone a few hours or days, but to the whumpee it’s weeks or months.
Day 3.
Archer scratched a tally mark on the wall, squinting to see in the darkness of his cell. It was something to occupy his mind while he waited for his friends to come.
They were taking a while. It was team policy to never let a rescue operation take more than two days unless it was impossible to do otherwise. Typically Archer led the rescue missions, but his captor was a foe they’d never faced before.
They were unprepared, while their opponent was not. They knew Jewel was an empath, they knew Archer was blessed by Apollo, they knew darkness would keep him weak.
That was why they were taking so long.
Day 25.
What was taking them so long?
Archer clutched his arm to his chest, wincing as he wrapped a torn strip of his shirt around his arm. He was told he would be given “company” today. He wasn’t sure what that meant, maybe another teammate had been captured? He would have been relieved to see a familiar face, even if they were trapped, too.
Instead, he met his captor’s “pet”.
In the darkness, he couldn’t tell what it was, but it shattered his glasses (not that they were helpful) and left him groaning in pain in a corner, covered in his own blood.
A groan forced its way through his teeth as he wrapped the dirty cloth around the area where he could feel the most blood.
“Please hurry up,” he whispered to nobody.
Day 50.
Day 147.
Day 200.
Day 1,823.
He dully scratched another tally mark into the wall with his fingernail. His captor had noticed what he was doing months ago, seemed to find it amusing for some reason.
It was two days away from five years.
He barely had a reason for keeping track of the days anymore; he just knew it gave his mind something to think about.
Something other than the fact that his friends weren’t coming. They were probably dead.
His arm twinged in pain; he reached up and felt empty space. As soon as he did, Archer sighed and put his face in his hand.
They’d cut off his arm three years ago. It still gave him phantom pains.
He tried to focus on something else, forcing his mind onto autopilot. They’d broken his leg yesterday. The exhausted teen had tried to set it as best he could, and had screamed into the darkness from the sheer agony. It had been a while since they’d broken his bones.
Quietly, he assessed his broken body as best he could. One arm, bruised to all hell, but no broken skin. His chest was bandaged using one of his few scraps of cloth he had left. One broken leg, one missing arm, and one throbbing headache. So today was a good day then.
Day 1,912.
Someone let light into the room, making him cry out as it blinded him.
He flinched back, drew his remaining limbs into himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, turned his face away.
His heart raced as he remembered the last time he’d seen light, how they’d wanted him to be stronger as they cut into him over and over and exclaimed at how long he could hold up.
His back hit the solid stone behind him as he hid his face, flinching away from the lights, the shouting. It was too much, too much-
“D- don’t- don’t t-”
“Guys! Guys! I found him! Archer, thank the stars!”
Who was Archer?
He turned away, trembling as footsteps approached him.
“Archer?” The voice was softer now, gentle. It made him flinch. “It’s me, you’re safe now.”
Safe?
“Archer, please answer me.”
Why did she keep saying Archer? Was that him? No, he was a pet, nothing more.
“Archer? Are you okay?” The voice started to ramble. “I’m so sorry we left you here for so long, I kept petitioning to leave sooner, but it took us three whole days just to find out where you were! It’s no excuse for leaving you in here for an entire week, though, and I’m so sorry. Are-”
The girl stopped talking. Archer barely noticed because she’d moved, allowing the light to wash over him and it was bright, too bright, and he was going to be hurt-
“Archer, what have they done to you?” Her voice was a whisper.
He- Archer? dared to open his eyes, to crack them just enough to see a red halo around the person standing above him.
“Not real,” he slurred weakly. Was this another fever dream?
“No, Archer, it’s me, it’s really me, it’s Jewel, can-” She reached out to touch him, but stopped when he recoiled.
He blinked open his eyes again, wincing at the light. “Jewel?” He repeated weakly. His tired eyes took in red hair, green eyes, freckles, concern.
Jewel knelt down in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder. They both flinched, Archer at the touch, Jewel at the sudden burst of empathy that jolted through her on the contact.
“Archer!” More footsteps thudded towards them (his hearing had become especially acute in the darkness). “Thank the stars you’re okay!”
He squinted up at the source of the voice, confused. “Who..?” He frowned, closing his eyes and opening them as if that would make the girl above him appear in his memories.
The girl looked worried. “Come on, Archer,” she said in a lighthearted tone that sounded too light, “Surely a week couldn’t make you forget this lovely face! Wren, get some light in here, this darkness has got to be killing him.”
Archer flinched as someone raised a lantern, raising his hand to block the light.
There was silence.
When he finally opened his eyes again, two of his rescuers were staring at the wall, where his hundreds of tally marks had been painstakingly scratched into the stones. Jewel was staring at him.
“Archer, how long have you been here?”