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whumpcereal · 2 months

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the kennel, part twenty

part of the the kennel (masterlist here). long time, no write! a follow-up to this ask. the taglist isn’t working for whatever reason, so please keep this visible if you are so inclined.

content warnings for: extreme dehumanization, conditioned whumpee, heavily implied noncon, human trafficking, cages, brief references to mouth whump, cold exposure and related maladies

part twenty, two by four

Will’s cage is still empty when the evening feeding is over. The others are in the recreation yard, relieving themselves before they return to the kennel for the evening. Annie doesn’t watch them the way Doc does. She knows that it embarrasses them, and she knows just as well as they do that there is nowhere they can run. Pets get spooked sometimes, she knows. Sometimes, they take off without knowing where they are going. But they never get far, so Annie doesn’t need to worry.

Instead, she stands at the deep stainless steel sink in the grooming annex, rinsing the dinner bowls of the rescues who aren’t on rations. She made a big pot of mashed potatoes tonight. Frozen peas and carrots. Things that are easy to gum or swallow as they might need to; some of their training makes soft food a necessity.

She knows the rescues are grateful for her care, but she doesn’t watch them eat either. They drop their faces into their dinner bowls and they eat like the good pets her father has trained them to be, but there is something about it that makes Annie feel uneasy. She knows Doc is helping them, that he’s saved them from whatever was waiting for them beyond the kennel, but none of them seem happy. Doc says that it’s hard for them to leave their old lives behind, even if those old lives had already come to an end.

Will doesn’t have a dinner bowl. He’s not even on rations. Doc handles all of his feeding, what little of it there is. Doc says that it is because Will is a naughty mutt; he needs to be taught discipline to make sure that he will be able to find his forever home. But it makes Annie’s chest tight to look at him. Will was soft when he was first rescued. There was something about him that made Annie think of a big teddy bear. He isn’t soft anymore. He isn’t himself anymore–at least as much as Annie can tell. Things changed when Doc began taking him to the doghouse.

Annie knows the doghouse is for the rescues Doc considers the most special. Doc knew when he rescued Will and Champ–Annie can’t remember what his name was before–that Champ was meant for the doghouse. Her father says that Champ is a natural, that he’ll have his forever home in no time, just like Justin’s Tony–Fido, Doc called him. But her father doesn’t think Will is special. Whatever happens to Will out there, it’s part of his training–and Annie knows he doesn’t like it. He isn’t a natural. It isn’t easy.

It happens that way. Like with Justin. Doc’s training him to be an attack dog, and the training isn’t gentle, even though Justin is. But Doc can always see what a rescue’s real purpose is, even if Annie can’t.

Doc took Will out to the doghouse this morning, but he isn’t back yet. It doesn’t normally take so long. Doc likes to finish work early enough to enjoy his own dinner in the big house, which means everyone needs to be bedded down and locked up at a reasonable hour. If he’s running late–

Annie tries to ignore the pit in her stomach. Everything is fine. Doc knows best, and if they are running late, it must be because he is giving Will some kind of extra attention. Not that Doc’s attention has done Will many favors since he’s arrived.

The others crawl in from the yard, bare skin chapped red from the cold, and Annie shakes off her anxiety. She moves from cage to cage, propping wire doors open and resituating blankets and pillows for those who have earned them. She offers a gentle touch to each of them as they get settled, and a few of them try to smile back at her. She runs back to the grooming annex for their nighttime treats: a flimsy foam toothbrush on a cardboard stick and a tray of sedatives in little paper cups. Most of them can handle their own bedtime routine, but Annie helps those who cannot use their hands. When their treats are gone, the rescues close their own cages, and Annie locks up behind them.

“Good night,” she whispers to each of them, using their old names. She isn’t supposed to, but what Doc doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Training doesn’t have to be painful. Annie thinks it would be better if it was never painful, but she isn’t the expert.

When she comes to lock Justin’s cage, he peeks up at her from the pillow of his wrists. “You okay, Annie?” he whispers, his words slightly garbled thanks to his missing teeth. Doc is going to implant the metal set he had made sometime in the next few weeks.

Annie gently closes the padlock. “Mmhmm.”

“You’re worried about the kid, huh?”

Annie doesn’t answer.

“Yeah. Well. You should be,” Justin murmurs, and then he turns his face away.

Annie’s stomach sinks.

Within a quarter-hour, the room is heavy with sleep. Her father and Will still haven’t come back. Annie shuts off the fluorescent overheads and starts her evening rounds. She clicks on a few strategically placed space heaters, hoping it will be enough for those who don’t have blankets tonight. She should go back to the big house, make sure that the pot roast she put in the crockpot hasn’t overcooked, but she can’t make herself leave. Not before she knows what’s happened to Will.

It’s another twenty minutes before the door creaks open. Annie is in the grooming annex, sitting inside one of the big metal tubs. She springs to her feet.

“Annie Marie?” Doc’s whisper is terse. “Where are you?”

Annie scrambles over the edge of the tub and into the kennel. Her hand flies to her throat when she sees the body at the end of the lead in Doc’s hand.

“Daddy–”

Will is barely conscious, his bare skin almost blue in the dim light. His dark hair, thinning and past his shoulders now, is heavy with ribbons of ice. The marks of today’s training–blood and shiny smears on his chin, his chest, between his legs–look hard as resin. He should be shivering, but he doesn’t move.

Annie forgets herself and drops to her knees beside him. Will. She touches his forehead; he is a block of ice. Annie bends closer to him, hoping that he knows she’s there. His brown eyes are glassy and unmoving.

Doc drops the leash and pulls off his own fleece-lined gloves, letting them fall to the floor. He crouches down beside her. The door is still open, and Annie can see his breath.

“I left him out longer than I meant to,” he says easily. “Thought the fresh air might do him good while I had a little heart to heart with my Champ.”

“Close the door!” Annie begs. Doc complies, but Annie doesn’t look away from Will.

Her chest surges with heat. She knows she shouldn’t be angry. Doc didn’t mean to do it. He just forgot. This was an accident. But how could he forget? He’s supposed to take care of the rescues. He’s supposed to know better. He’s supposed to be better. At least, Annie thought he was.

Annie can barely see through her tears. She grabs Will’s frozen wrist. She can feel a pulse, just barely.

“He’ll be fine,” Doc scoffs from above her. “I’m sure he’s just caught a chill.”

Will is barely breathing. When Annie looks down, she sees that his naked toes are waxy and blue-gray. Her gorge rises, but she forces it back down.

“I need to get him warm,” Annie says, more to herself than to Doc. She takes off her flannel and drapes it over Will’s trunk. She wants to wrap it closer around him, but something stops her.

Doc nods. “I’ll help you get him in the back. I figured you wouldn’t mind taking care of him. But I’m beat. It was tough in there today, and I think I’ll head in for dinner once we get him settled.”

One of Annie’s tears breaks loose, but she thumbs it away. “He can’t sleep in the cage tonight.”

“That’s fine. It was my mistake, I guess.”

“And he’ll need clothes. And more than just water.”

Doc waves his hand in assent. “Sure. Whatever gets him ready for training.”

Annie feels like her chest might explode. She forces breath through her nose. “He’ll need a few days.”

“Just so long as you don’t let any of the others suffer on his account. He might be making some progress, but this little mutt isn’t worth too much fuss.”

“I won’t,” Annie says shortly.

“Annie Marie, you know I’m just doing my job.”

There is something strange in Doc’s tone, and Annie knows she’s flirting with some kind of line. She doesn’t disobey. She doesn’t challenge him. She knows better.

She makes herself look up from Will’s slack face. “I know, Daddy.”

Doc smiles and bends down to scoop Will’s body against his barrel chest. Annie knows she would never have been able to move Will on her own, but something about seeing Will’s head lolling against her father’s chest makes her belly feel hard. She follows Doc between the cages and into the grooming annex.

“Why don’t you spread one of those old horse blankets on the floor, baby?”

Annie rushes to the cabinet. Will should have a bed. He should have a quilt and pillows. He shouldn’t be here at all.

She snaps up the blanket, suddenly frightened that her father may have heard what she was thinking. She drops it on the floor and smooths it out just before Doc unceremoniously dumps Will’s body on top of it. There is a hollow thunk as Will’s head hits the floor.

“You’re a sweet girl, baby. But you don’t have to worry. I know he’ll be just fine. And do you know I know?”

Will whimpers a little, and it takes everything Annie has to keep her eyes on her father. “How?”

“Because you’re taking care of him, and I taught you everything I know.”

Doc leans forward to press a kiss to Annie’s forehead, but for the first time in her life, Annie doesn’t find it even remotely comforting.

“Is there dinner up at the house?”

“Pot roast. And I made potatoes and veggies too.”

“That’s my girl,” Doc says, giving Annie a final squeeze. He doesn’t even look at Will. “Should I fix you a plate?”

Annie shakes her head. “I already ate.” She hasn’t, but she doesn’t care; her stomach is in knots.

“Well, don’t stay up too late now. The mutt will be just fine.”

“I just want to make sure,” she says softly. Will’s mittened hands twitch against the blanket. Doc doesn’t notice. Of course he doesn’t.

“My sweet girl,” he says again. He shoves his hands in his pockets and moves toward the door. “Alright then.”

“Good night, Daddy.” Annie hopes that her voice sounds normal, but the words almost curdle in her mouth. Her father has never felt less familiar to her.

“Good night, baby.”

Doc leaves without a backward glance. He will go home to the big house, and he will sit at their table, and he will eat his pot roast with a knife and fork. He will take a warm shower to wash off his day before he climbs into his big four-poster bed and wraps up warm in a down comforter. When he wakes tomorrow, he will wear clothes that he can button with his own two hands, and he will walk on two legs, and he will not think about the people who live on his property that cannot do the same. Because he doesn’t think of them as people. Annie’s just never realized it before.

She feels like she’s been struck in the chest by a two-by-four, but she doesn’t have time to collapse. Will is only just stirring on the floor; he needs her now.

taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @mylifeisonthebookshelf,

@highwaywhump, @squishablesunbeam, @hold-him-down, @whumpsday,

@sowhumpful, @termsnconditions-apply, @irishwhiskeygrl, @deltaxxk, @d-cs,

@whumpinggrounds, @canislycaon24, @considerablecolors, @starlit-darkness, @scp-1296,

@flowersarefreetherapy, @morning-star-whump, @whumpwhittler, @susiequaz12, @whump-world,

@hiding-in-the-shadows, @tasteywhumpee, @whumplr-reader, @sad-boys-anonymous, @whumpzone

NOTE: Pretty sure this taglist is out of date, so please let me know if I've missed adding you. I've been so absent that I'm fairly certain I did not update appropriately.

#the kennel #annie barker oc #will cartwright oc #doc barker oc #tw implied noncon #tw dehumanization #extreme pet whump #there will be a follow-up with a little more from sweet william #but he's very cold right now #i hope people still read this?#whump #whump writing

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