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cyberwhumper · 4 months

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The animal is quite skittish. Despite being alone in the quiet room, able to do whatever it pleases, the creature chooses to spend days pressed up against the corner, terrified of imaginary punishments that don't seem to come. Even as Imran steps into the room to swap old food for a fresh serving, the biopet still doesn't move much from its spot despite being so obviously terrified of him. Every step makes Horus flinch in fear.

He had been so patient with it up to this point, giving the injured creature plenty of space and a consistent environment to help soothe its nerves, yet Imran still couldn't help but feel concern. It hasn't eaten in almost a week, it barely moves from the corner of the room, it whimpers if the man so much as looks it in the eyes. At night it cries itself to sleep, the soft sobbing carried through the house tugging painfully at Imran's heartstrings.

The bruises and cuts which littered its body blossomed into horrifying shades of crimson and purple, areas where he hadn't even noticed the animal was hurt seeming to be bruised as well. In fairness, his eagerness to remove the creature out of that squalid situation likely played a part. He should have inspected Horus better, assessed the damage more calmly, actually planned what to do once he got home. Not that it seemed to mind.

Imran doesn't know whether or not it's even intelligent enough to understand what's happening around it. In the eyes of an animal, the constant change in environments, owners, even down to the rules it's supposed to follow, must be extremely stressful. In a way, he almost hopes Horus doesn't understand, so that it may be spared the burden of knowing the full extent of what it has gone through.

It takes almost another entire week before Imran catches the faintest glimpse of progress, the slightest sliver of hope. The animal, hungry and desperate, had slowly dragged itself to the food bowl. He caught it passed out right on top, so exhausted it didn't seem to have had the energy to drag itself back. Food, he hoped, could be the way to coax the biopet out of its shell. To get confirmation that his strategy was working made Imran elated.

Perhaps one day he could live to see a situation in which Horus would truly be happy and healthy.

Perhaps then, and only then, he could feel like he atoned.

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whumpcereal · 2 years

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whumptober, day seven: shaking hands | seizures | silent panic attack

Will's first wake up at the kennel. Parts one, two, and three here. I will make a masterlist this weekend, I swear. Also, this is officially a birthday gift for @hold-him-down. Happy birthday, Holdy!

content warnings for: dehumanization, animalization, forced nudity (non-sexual), muzzles, cages, panic, forced feeding, comments about weight, accidental urination, creepy/intimate whumper, adult language

part four, rise and shine

Will doesn’t sleep. It’s not like he can. It turns out, dog kennels are not, in fact, made to accommodate the six foot frame of a human who isn’t used to being on his hands and knees. Everything fucking hurts, until it doesn’t. At some point, the persistent ache in his back starts to burn and then dulls into numbness. His shoulders feel like they’ve floated off into space, and he can’t feel his legs at all.

Maybe it’s a mercy not to feel for a second, but there’s a part of Will that’s scared shitless. How long are they going to leave him in here? Like, what happens if you don’t get enough blood to your extremities? Do they die or, like, fall off? He knows it’s unreasonable, but still, Will imagines himself as a limbless body.

It’s not exactly comforting. Neither are the sounds of the room around him. The restless shifting of other bodies, already used to their cages. Heavy breathing. A few snores. They are all normal, human sounds, and this is not a normal, human situation. Will doesn’t know how many of them there are, but even one person locked in a fucking cage is too much. It doesn’t make him feel any better to know that he’s not alone. Especially because it feels like he’s the only one who realizes how fucked up this is. The rest of them are fucking sleeping.

And he still doesn’t know where Tommy is.

So, yeah, no. Will doesn’t sleep.

He stares into the darkness, floating on a choppy sea of really fucking problematic thoughts, and he watches as the light in the room shifts from black to ink blue and then a cold gray. Morning.

There’s the snap of a switch, and the fluorescent overhead lights buzz to life.

“Rise and shine!” chirps a man’s voice. Fucking Doc. “Hup-hup! Out in the yard to potty. You know the drill.”

Will’s eyes sting with fresh tears. He can’t do that. He can’t. But he hears the jangle of cages being opened, and it doesn’t seem like any of the others hesitate. A door opens on squeaking hinges; there’s a blast of freezing cold air. Skin slaps against cold cement, and the room quiets before the door slams shut again.

Will is still locked up. He whimpers behind the muzzle, and without thinking, nudges his head against the cage door.

Fuck. Did he just do that?

There’s a soft laugh, and then footsteps move closer to him. Doc crouches in front of the cage, and he ducks his head to get a good look at Will. There’s a smile that, on anybody else’s face, would almost be reassuring; on Doc’s, it just sort of makes Will want to crawl up his own asshole.

“Aw, now, little mutt,” Doc coos. He curls his fingers against the wires. “Don’t get too excited. You’re not socialized yet, are you? It would be wrong to put you in the yard with the others before you know the lay of the land.”

Mutt. Cold shame coils in Will’s belly. It’s all he can feel, since the rest of him’s gone numb.

He knows it isn’t true. He’s not a mutt, he’s–well, he’s himself. And maybe that isn’t always what he’s wanted to be but, fuck–he’s a person. But somehow, the word sinks into him just like Doc’s tracking chip, sharp and stinging beneath his skin.

“Did you get some good rest last night?” Doc asks. “My Annie says you were good as gold.”

Will’s eyebrows crease beneath the forked straps of his muzzle. ‘Good as gold’ is a stretch. Maybe Annie meant it when she said she’d do what she could for him. Though if half-lying to her deranged father is all she can do, it’s not like it’ll make much difference.

“I hope you stay that way,” Doc says, his tone all sugar and honey. “You’ve got a big day today, mutt. A very big day.”

Will can only blink. Who knows what the fuck ‘a very big day’ with Doc looks like? Will isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to find out.

Except he is. Because there’s an actual fucking bit in his mouth.

He should snarl, growl, bash his head against the cage. But the sudden awareness of the weight on his tongue, of his own half-naked body makes him shrink. He tries to press himself to the back of the cage, but he has no idea if he’s even moved.

“Oh, hey now, buddy. There’s no need to be afraid,” says Doc.

Right. Because he isn’t muzzled and mitted and fucking caged. Because he isn’t in a basement that was, until very recently, packed to the gills with human animals. Because he doesn’t know where Tommy is or what’s happened to him or how they’re going to get home or if they’re going to get home, and–

Will can’t breathe. He can’t make a sound, and he can’t breathe. He tries to suck in air through his nose, but nothing happens. His chest feels like it’s stuck. He can’t–fuck, he can’t–he can’t–

Doc slams his hand against the door. “Stop that now. You’re fine. You hear me? There’s nothing for you to get so worked up about.”

Will doesn’t mean to, but whatever air is left in his chest pushes out in a mangled whine. And then he feels a wet warmth spread between his legs.

Shit. Or, you know, the opposite.

Will’s eyes stay glued on Doc as he dribbles through his boxers and onto the newspaper. He can feel his tears slipping down his face, disappearing into the leather, but he doesn’t move.

Doc sighs, shaking his head. “Naughty. Naughty boy!”

He bangs against the cage again, and Will jumps.

“Looks like you might take more training than I thought. But that’s okay, buddy. Isn’t it? We’ve got all the time we need.”

Will’s heart sinks to his bowels. He still can’t draw a full breath, but he doesn’t think Doc cares.

Doc reaches into his pocket and slips out a ring of keys. “We’ll get you cleaned up, won’t we? But I want you to listen to what I say here, boy. When you come out of this cage, you’re going to stay on your hands and knees. You’re going to heel and follow where I lead you. And you are not going to fight. If you fight, I’ll make sure you can’t get around any way but on your hands and knees ever again. You nod if you understand, mutt.”

Will’s head moves, just a little. His nerves are starting to fire again; he’s fucking shaking.

“That’s a good boy,” Doc soothes.

He unlocks the door and swings it open, then turns behind him and produces a braided cord with a big slipknot at the end.

It’s a fucking leash. Will’s chest might rip open if it could. He tries again to suck in air, but he’s crying too hard now to make any headway.

Doc waggles the loop in front of Will’s face. “You don’t have your collar yet, so we’ll use this slip lead for now. If you tug, you choke.”

And then he pulls the loop over Will’s head, tugging it snug against his throat. Doc yanks forward, and the cord cinches tighter. If Will couldn’t breathe before, this is not going to do him any favors.

“Up now, boy,” Doc urges. “We’ll have to get you back to the exam room before the others come in. We don’t want to overwhelm them. I work hard to help them forget what it’s like to be in your place, you know?”

But Will can’t get up. He can’t fucking move. He’s shaking too much. He tries to push up on his mitted hands, but they’re trembling inside the leather; his joints melt like wax. Doc tugs again on the lead, and this time, Will fucking chokes.

“Come on now, boy. Heel.”

He doesn’t get all the way up to his hands, but Will manages to creep out of the cage like a loose-limbed baby, half-letting Doc drag him by the throat.

“Easy now, mutt. Come on. You’re fine. You’re just fine.”

Will pushes up on his jittering knees and slides his mitts along the cement toward the door Annie was watching last night. His wet boxers cling to his crotch, already starting to chafe. It’s a small relief that all of Doc’s other–pets? prisoners?--that the others are in the yard so no one can see him this way.

He hopes Tommy’s with them. That Tommy can breathe. That he’s not so fucking terrified.

But when Doc opens the door, Will’s hopes plummet straight to the concrete floor.

Tommy’s there, kneeling on the floor in front of a dog bowl. And he’s eating from it.

Tommy? Will forgets he can’t speak, and his trapped tongue aches under the weight of Tommy’s name. The sound alerts Tommy, and he looks up, eyes glassy with tears of his own. Greasy brown chunks of dog food cling to his chin. He looks back at the bowl, his cheeks burning.

“Awww,” laughs Doc. “What a good boy you are, Champ. Eat up now, come on.”

Tommy doesn’t move as Doc closes the door and locks it behind him. Doc doesn’t notice. He snaps his fingers next to his hip and points at the floor next to his feet, tugging on Will’s lead.

“Heel up, mutt.”

Will barks out a cough, but he does as he’s told, balancing on shaking hands and knees next to Doc’s leg. Careless fingers ruffle his hair.

“Good boy. Sit. Back on your heels.”

Will does. He’s across from Tommy now, but neither of them can look the other in the face.

“Now, Champ here promised he would eat every bite of that food if I brought you in here. He wanted to know you were okay. Isn’t that good of him? A beautiful boy like him looking out for a dirty mutt like you?”

It is good of Tommy, and Will knows it. If he’s a dirty mutt, Tommy’s a purebred. Will’s head sinks down below his shoulders.

Tommy pushes up on his hands. “He isn’t–”

Doc slaps Tommy hard across the face, and Tommy falls over backward, naked limbs flying. Will forces his eyes back to the floor when he realizes that Doc hasn’t even left Tommy his underwear. He’s never seen Tommy naked before. It isn’t–that’s not the kind of friends they are.

Will doesn’t move, even though Doc’s dropped his lead. He doesn’t do a thing to help Tommy. How can he? He can’t even fucking breathe.

“Don’t hurt him,” Tommy begs. “I didn’t mean–it’s just that–”

Will’s gut twists. Tommy is pleading for him, and all Will can do is sit there, like some dumb fucking dog. Doc grips Tommy by his blond curls and dumps him on his knees in front of the bowl again.

“You keep your mouth in check, Champ, or I’ll muzzle you too,” Doc says casually. “You lick this bowl clean while the mutt watches; he’s got some weight to drop, so you’ll have to do his eating for him.”

Will shrinks down even lower.

“Will–” Tommy tries, but Doc shoves his face back into the bowl, holding it there until Tommy is practically drowning in brown slop. Tommy’s breath gurgles; Will can’t breathe at all.

“Eat,” Doc commands. He lets go of Tommy’s head and then steps back to Will, petting his hair with a gentle hand. Tommy raises his filthy face and mouths at the dog food, his lean body shaking with silent sobs.

“Thattaboy, Champ. Good boy. And when you’re done, both you dirty boys need a bath. We’ve got to get you two camera ready, add you to the catalog.”

Will’s eyes meet Tommy’s, just for a second.

They are so fucked.

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