#also I'm aware of the innacuracy of the corroding bracelet

[pigeonwhumps]

Rescued

Sam and Lucan masterlist

Lucan comes to live with Sam.

4.4k

CWs: pet whump, dehumanisation, blink-and-you'll-miss-it implied non-con, mentioned shock collar use, mentioned caning, unsafe and inaccurate use of hydrochloric acid

“What the fuck, Luke?”

Lucan kneels on the floor, skin burning under his clothes, listening to the angry hissing, letting his gaze flick up to the two people every so often. He doesn’t know how he’s made them angry, he doesn’t understand what’s going on, and his hair still smells of smoke.

“It was an accident, alright?”

“An accident. You set fire to her house accidentally.”

They sound unimpressed. He thinks their name’s Sam. And the other one’s definitely Luke. Maybe... maybe he did something wrong while he was here earlier. He swallows, feeling the press of soft leather against his throat.

“Alright, fine, I was angry. You would’ve been too, if you’d seen the conditions he was being kept in.”

“Oh?”

“He was in a cage barely big enough for him, no blankets or soft floor or anything besides those thin clothes he’s wearing.” They glance over at him and he wishes he could disappear. Mistress bought these night-clothes because she thought they’d look good, but they’re so thin as to be translucent. He hates them, even though pets shouldn’t hate things. “The only things in his room were punishment tools. The shock collar was charging by the wall. I simply fiddled with the electrics a little.”

“Why’s his hair burnt, then? Didn’t you get him out of the way first?”

Luke shrugs. “I tried, but the fire moved too fast for me. I’m not an arsonist by trade, you know.”

“No, you’re a conman,” mutters Sam, making Luke laugh. “Alright, thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

Luke glances again at Lucan, something like pity in his eyes. “Good luck then. Both of you.”

“And you.” Once the door shuts behind Luke, Sam sighs, raking a hand through their short brown hair. They crouch down in front of him, and Lucan scans them quickly. They’re less put-together than they were earlier, hair mussed, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal lean muscles. Lucan swallows. Sam could do him a lot of damage with those.

“Hi. I’m Sam, but... I guess you know that. I use they/them pronouns, which I’m not sure you know.” Lucan nods. He does know, his Mistress went on a long rant about ‘people like that’ after she’d sent the email. “Oh. You do. Good. Um... can you talk?” Lucan shakes his head. “Okay. Right, well, we need to find some way to communicate, I need to know your name. I won’t call you Puck, I saw how you felt about that yesterday. Can you read and write?” He nods, somewhat hesitantly. He can certainly read, and he used to be able to write, although he hasn’t done so for so long he’s not sure anymore. “Great. I’ll fetch a pen and paper, and you write down your name for me, okay?” He nods again and Sam hurries off, reappearing a second later with a pad of lined paper and a pen. Lucan’s not sure why they keep asking him things, he has to obey anyway, but he takes the proffered pen in a loose grip. “It doesn’t have to be your real name, and I certainly don’t want your true name, just... give me something I can call you.” Lucan swallows. He shouldn’t hesitate, he knows that, but he’s not sure what to write. He hasn’t heard his name for so long but... if Sam doesn’t like it, if they use it to tease him or insult him...

But then Sam wasn’t like that yesterday. And although this must be an act, this kindness, they seem to be trying not to humiliate him.

Slowly, shakily, in large, clumsy letters, he writes Lucan.

Sam smiles, and he thinks he’s at least done something right.

“Lucan. Nice name. And you do use he/him, right?” Lucan nods. “Good, good. So, Lucan, I think the first thing we need to do is clean you up and find you some new clothes. It’s a small flat, but I’ve pulled the sofabed out, you can either take that or my bed. And I guess... do you know why you’re here?” Lucan shakes his head. Sometimes Mistress lends him to people for a few nights, but it’s always after a giveaway, he knows to expect it even if she never explicitly tells him. He doesn’t think that’s what this is. Sam sighs. “Right, well, firstly, you’re not going back to Caroline. You’re staying here, where it’s safer. And you’re not here to be a pet, or any other type of slave. You’re here to recover, and be a person. You’ll be living with me from now on, I hope that’s okay.” Lucan bows his head in submission, the world settling back into place somewhat. He has a new Master now.

That brings its own set of problems, though. What does his new Master want? How can he please them? Now he knows he’s staying here for good, he needs to work out how to act, and Master hasn’t given him any clues at all.

_

Sam watches Lucan bow. They’re not sure what to do really, how to get Lucan to treat them as an equal, not his owner, but seeing someone bow at their feet, so full of fear, makes them feel sick.

“You don’t have to bow. In fact, please don’t. I’m going to take that collar off, okay?” They reach forward and unbuckle the red leather, wincing at the bruising and burns.

They should treat the wounds, shouldn’t they? But they don’t have anything to treat them with. What are they meant to do? The injuries aren’t too bad, right? They’re not going to lose Lucan. Not so soon after he’s arrived.

Okay, they need to calm down. Lucan’s scared, and this isn’t helping. He’s just had his whole life uprooted, even if it wasn’t a particularly nice one, and he needs Sam to get it together.

They take a deep breath and swallow. They can do this.

“I don’t have a first aid kit or anything, unfortunately, so we’ll have to make do.” They look up from Lucan’s neck to see him trembling, head tilted back slightly, giving Sam access to his neck. “Lucan, what–”

They stop. The new burns on the front of his neck. Sam taking off his collar, despite the fact that pet-class slaves are rarely left uncollared. “The shock collar was hanging from a hook on the wall.”

Oh.

“Lucan. Lucan, drop your head, and look at me if you can.” Lucan does so, not making eye contact but watching them enough for them to see that he’s terrified. “I don’t have a shock collar. I’m not going to put one on you, or hurt you in any way. I took your collar off so you’d be more comfortable, not to punish you. Understand?” Lucan nods, but Sam doesn’t think he does, not really. They sigh. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up. Um... you really don’t have to crawl, you know.”

Lucan doesn’t take the implied invitation to walk, crawling along on all fours behind them as they head for the bathroom, running a warm bath. Nothing too hot. Then they sit down on the closed toilet, the faerie kneeling at their feet. There’s something they have to do first.

“Can I take a look at your arm, Lucan? The one with the bracelet on.” Lucan bows and offers up their arm, and Sam takes it gently, studying the bracelet. It’s stainless steel, presumably with some sort of lining that’s not toxic to faeries, and there’s a rich blue digital display on each side. One reads CAROLINE JONES and the other 12735. It’s the same colour-coded ID bracelet that all slaves wear, that they didn’t really register he was wearing earlier because it’s so common on faeries. It doesn’t quite sit flush to the skin, and according to what little research they’ve been able to do it will have been welded together while already on Lucan’s body, making it near-impossible to remove.

Near-impossible. Everything has a weak point, and hydrochloric acid corrodes steel. They pull a bottle out of the cupboard, along with some thick plastic sheeting and protective equipment, and open the window as much as possible.

“Put this on.” Lucan slides the industrial-grade mask over his mouth and nose as Sam does the same, checking the fit of them both. “Right. Lucan, I’m going to wrap your forearm in this, under the bracelet. I need you to tell me if it doesn’t cover all of your skin, and I need you to be honest with me, because I’m going to use 38% concentrate hydrochloric acid to remove that bracelet. I’m guessing by your reaction just now that you know what it can do to flesh.” Lucan nods, and Sam picks up the plastic, slotting it under the bracelet and winding it tightly around Lucan’s forearm. “Is everything covered?” He nods again. “Good. Do you know which area of the bracelet was welded together? That’ll be the weakest point.” Lucan points immediately to the side, and Sam can’t see a difference but they trust Lucan knows, turning the bracelet so that area’s facing upwards. They pull a pair of disposable gloves on. “Here we go then.”

And they pour the bottle.

Lucan tenses as the acid runs out, looking surprised when it doesn’t touch his skin. Was he really expecting Sam to pour acid on him?

“I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to hurt you,” they murmur, setting the bottle down and watching the bracelet as they pull off the gloves. “Keep your arm held like that, I’m going to fetch some clean clothes. If you need anything, knock hard on the bathtub.” Lucan nods, and Sam hurries to their room. Lucan’s a foot taller than them, but very thin. Too thin. They have some oversized sweatshirts that might fit, and they grab a couple. Plus spare underwear, just in case. They’ve been trying not to look at Lucan’s body but it’s very much visible under those pyjamas, and they’re not sure if he’s wearing any underwear. Not sure what state it’ll be in if he is, given what they know about the effects of shock collars.

They sigh. Caring for Lucan is going to be even more of a struggle than they first anticipated. And they don’t even know what to feed him yet. How often has he eaten solid food in the last few years, anyway? Shaking their head, they head back to the bathroom (via the kitchen to pick up a sharp knife), where Lucan’s kneeling in the same place they left him.

Kneeling. Like he’s something lesser.

The bracelet on Lucan’s wrist is corroding nicely, and they smile at his wide-eyed look. “Nearly there. I’ve got you some clothes for afterwards, I don’t have any trousers that’ll fit, we’ll have to order something, but you can choose a sweatshirt. Or not!” he adds hurriedly as a flash of fear crosses Lucan’s face, breathing speeding up. “I can choose. What about this one?” They hold up a grey sweatshirt with a Bayeux Tapestry health and safety joke on that Amanda gave them for Christmas one year. Lucan nods. “Good. Good.” They snap a new pair of gloves on and pick up a knife, sending the faerie flinching back, eyeing it warily. Sam curses – they should’ve guessed. “Hey, hey. Easy. It’s not for you. I just need to cut the bracelet off, now it’s probably corroded enough.” Lucan doesn’t calm down though, and Sam has to hold their arm tightly to stop the shaking while they cut through the bracelet. They have to use a lot of force to get through the steel, and maybe they didn’t wait as long as they should have but they’re impatient to remove it.

Finally the bracelet falls away and Sam catches it, dumping it in the plastic bin next to them. Then they carefully remove the plastic from Lucan’s arm, making sure no acid rolls off onto his skin, and throw that away too. They shut the lid and set it outside the bathroom door.

“Right. I’ll deal with that later. That didn’t hurt anywhere, right?” Lucan shakes his head. “Good. You can remove your mask now. And, um, you need to have a wash, so will you take your clothes off?”

Lucan removes his clothes clumsily, fumbling with the buttons, and Sam takes them to set aside (possibly to burn later) when they notice something and stop, horrified.

There’s thin slivers of metal spread around the inside lining of the clothes, which earlier they’d taken to be a pattern of some sort in the fabric, not looking closely. They look to Lucan’s back, which as well as the numerous scars and bruises has a few slivers scattered about, the skin covered in small burns. They wouldn’t be surprised if that was repeated all over his body.

He’s been burnt with iron filings. On the inside of his clothes.

“Well, fuck.”

_

Lucan flinches. He wonders what he’s done wrong now. What’s wrong with him. Is it his skin? He knows it’s not the prettiest, not without make-up on.

“I’m not angry at you, Lucan, I just– she burnt you with iron?”

Lucan nods, frowning. Why’s Master shocked? That’s the SSA-recommended method of punishing fae slaves. Do they not know?

Maybe they don’t. Maybe that’s why they’re treating him like this. Once they find out, he’ll be back to being treated like normal. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

Thee is another possibility. But he doesn’t want to think about that.

“Right. Change of plan. Amanda’s going to kill me for this, so we’re never going to tell her, okay?” They pause spreading towels around the floor to look at Lucan, who nods. “I need you to stand in the centre of the towels. If you can’t, I’ll help you, but I want to wash off the iron filings before you have a bath. Can you try and stand? Lean on the sink if you need to.”

Lucan stares for a moment, struggling to understand Master’s latest command. He hasn’t stood for any length of time in years. Pets don’t stand, and he doesn’t want his kneecaps broken again. But Master wants him to this time, so his kneecaps will be fine. Probably. Hopefully. He crawls over to the sink and levers himself up on shaking legs, about to collapse when Master wraps an arm around him to hold him up.

“Easy, you’re doing well. I can’t wash you properly while I’m holding you though, so if you lean fully on the sink I can do your back.” They let go and Lucan leans over the sink, gripping the edge tightly, bracing himself for the harsh shock of cold water.

The water hits his back and he gasps but... it’s warm. Blasting, pummelling his bruises, but warm. The spray travels down his back and legs and he can feel the remaining iron detaching.

“Turn around.” Lucan does so, and Master looks away as they spray his front. Then they hang up the shower-head again and put an arm back around Lucan’s waist. Lucan fights against the skin-crawling sensation of someone else’s bare skin touching his. Master’s just helping him, and even if they weren’t, even if they were acting like some people have, it wouldn’t matter, because he’s theirs now anyway. Master can do what they like with him. So he needs to stop trying to flinch away. That’s what got him sent to be retrained the first time, and he never wants to go back there.

“Let’s get you into the bath. I don’t want you crawling over the iron filings.” Master half-carries Lucan to the bath and he climbs in, grateful to be allowed off his feet again. He should be grateful for a great many things, actually, Master deigning to take extra effort to wash the iron off for one thing, but he focuses on this. A warm bath, off his feet. He feels very naked without his collar and bracelet, moreso than he ever has, but he’s not sure he wants to put them back on. Master will make him, though, the collar at least. The bracelet he’s not so sure about, he thinks that’s completely broken, but without either he won’t look owned.

He wonders what colour his name-tag will be this time. His old Mistress owned a variety to match different outfits but Master doesn’t seem that type of person. Maybe they’ll take their cue from the one he was wearing earlier, red leather and a small silver tag. Or maybe they’ll want something completely different.

“You’re thinking too much. You’re a pet, 12735, you’re there to obey, not think. Do you need a reminder?”

Lucan shudders as his handler’s voice reverberates around his skull. He’s right, of course. No more thinking. Not unless he wants to be retrained.

It does feel odd breathing freely though, without either leather or plastic at his throat.

He’s startled away from his thoughts as Master scratches the top of his head, and he pushes into the touch automatically, starting to relax as the dopamine hits. He hasn’t had this much, even though he likes it. He’s not a good pet.

“I thought this might help,” murmurs Master, “you liked it earlier. Whatever it was that scared you just now, I hope you know that you’re safe here.” Lucan nods. He has a roof over his head and someone to punish him when he needs it. He’s safe. “Good. Good.” Master scratches down his scalp. “I, um, Luke texted me. Caroline survived the fire. Her house was burnt down though. I don’t know whether you wanted that, but... you should know. You’re the one she hurt.”

Hurt? She didn’t hurt him, that’s how pets are treated. But he nods anyway to show he understands, careful not to dislodge the hand in his hair.

“I assume you know how to wash yourself, but I want to make sure your injuries are cleaned properly. I won’t touch anything private. And, um, your hair needs cutting. I know it’s not right for me to do that, so you can cut it yourself if you want, but the damage from the fire needs trimming. I’m sorry.”

Lucan blinks rapidly. He won’t cry in front of Master, not again. It’s just that it’s been so long since anyone knew or cared about fae customs. For the fae, hair’s sacred, only to be touched by those you love, and it’s been so long since anyone took that into account that he was beginning to believe no-one ever would again.

It’s been so damaged, so violated, over the years, though, that he can’t really think of it as his hair anymore.

“Okay, look, why don’t you tap on the wall once for letting me do your hair, and twice for cutting it yourself. Take your time.”

Lucan thinks. His hair’s a bit distant from him now, and maybe that doesn’t mean anything, he should still cut it himself, but... the thought of that sends a shiver down his spine. His old Mistress would’ve punished him for a hair out of place even if she was the one to cause it, he doesn’t want to find out what Master will do if he cuts it wrong.

He taps on the wall once.

“Okay. Hold still. I should warn you, I’m not an expert in cutting hair, it might not come out too straight. You ready?” Lucan nods, trying to ignore the sense of loss as Master’s hand leaves his hair, and feels a slight tugging sensation on his hair, hearing the snip of scissors cutting through it. The burnt smell drifts away slightly as his hair falls to the floor.

“There. Done. It’s a bit wonky, I’ll show you once you’re washed and dressed. Um... I’m going to wash your back now. I’ll try not to hurt you but I need to clean your burns. If you need me to stop, tap twice on the wall, okay?” Lucan nods, knowing he won’t do so. It’s his place to take whatever his Master gives him.

To his surprise it doesn’t hurt. Well, there’s pain, of course there is, Master’s cleaning out burns and bruises and old cane marks, and they wouldn’t be punishments if they didn’t hurt, but it’s not bad. Master’s cleaning is gentle, there’s no rough, impatient scrubbing that’s only enough to rub the make-up and grime off, scrubbing that sometimes hurts so much he wants to cry out, this is soft. They’re cleaning him thoroughly, carefully, gently, and they’re so patient, the whole way through, even when Lucan’s slow to respond to Master’s requests to turn, or lift his feet. Lucan squeezes his eyes shut to stop the tears but it doesn’t work, droplets hitting the water silently. He doesn’t understand why Master’s being so gentle but he aches for it.

“Okay,” says Master, once his hair’s washed as well, “I’ll leave you to wash the rest in private. Once you’re finished, dry yourself off and get dressed, there’s some clothes... um...” – they frown around the room before picking up a lumpy towel to reveal the sweatshirt and underwear from earlier – “here. I don’t have trousers that’ll fit you, I’m afraid. Once you’re dressed, join me in the living room. I’ll leave the door ajar, if you need help knock on the floor or the wall or something twice. Okay?” Lucan nods, and Master exits.

They exit.

Lucan’s alone.

Lucan swallows. He should make this quick – Master will come to check on him at some point, and if he’s not acceptable by then he’ll be punished. He washes the rest of himself quickly and clambers out of the bath, trying not to revel in the novelty of privacy while he’s naked. It doesn’t happen often. He pulls on the clothes Master left him hurriedly. The grey sweatshirt’s very soft and goes all the way down to the middle of his thighs. It reminds him of something he had before, when he was–

No. No, he’s not going to think about that, it’ll just make him sad. He has more than enough to process without that too.

He crawls out into the living room and Master looks up from their laptop with a smile. “Much better. Are you comfortable in those?” Lucan nods and touches his throat absently. His clothes are comfortable (not that he’d say if they weren’t) but his neck feels wrong bare.

All those years he spent wishing he wasn’t collared and now it’s off he can’t stand it.

“Oh!” Master rummages around and pulls out a multicoloured knitted scarf, with they hand to him. “I dug this out for you. In case you want something around your neck.” Lucan winds it around his neck, its soft warmth comforting, and bows his thanks. “Um... you’re welcome? I promised you could see your hair as well.” They hand Lucan a mirror.

Lucan looks in it. His hair is short and choppy now, coming up to a little above his shoulders. Without any signs of ownership he sees a flicker of his old self, which he quickly banishes. No sense dwelling on the impossible.

He swallows. Maybe, if he thanks Master properly, he’ll be allowed to sleep. He bends down over Master’s shoes, and hears a strangled yelp that makes him jump.

_

Sam lets out a strangled sound as Lucan starts to kiss the air above his boots.

“Lucan, stop.” Lucan pauses and looks up at them, trembling. “You don’t have to thank me like that. I’m happy to give you new clothes and a haircut. You don’t have to show some twisted form of worship to get it. Okay?” Lucan nods timidly and Sam reaches down to scratch the top of his head. “I’m not angry with you, Lucan. I won’t punish you. Just, um, please don’t do it again.”

They were going to ask Lucan to join them on the sofa to help with the remainder of the shopping, but it’s obvious he won’t, so they slide off to join him on the floor, giving him a reassuring smile.

“I want you to see what I’m ordering for you,” explains Sam, beckoning Lucan closer, and the faerie shuffles forward to kneel next to them. They angle the laptop around so he can see, and start scrolling through clothes, keeping a close eye on Lucan’s expression. When Lucan’s eyes light up at the sight of a pink oversized sweatshirt they add it to the basket. Luckily, Lucan’s quite expressive, even if he’s trying not to be, and Sam doesn’t have to add many clothes of their choosing. On the basis that Lucan’s probably going to crawl for quite a while, even if Sam would prefer he didn’t (they’re not sure his legs are strong enough to walk yet though, anyway), they buy some jeans. Hopefully they won’t wear through too quickly in the knee.

Once they’ve added everything they can think of (including the first aid kit and plastic cutlery they added before Lucan joined them), they check out. Lucan looks exhausted.

“Go and get some sleep, Lucan. You can take the bed, turn right and it’s the first room on the left.” Lucan nods, and they think about adding an apology for not having any pyjamas but there’s not much point. With any luck they’ll be here the day after tomorrow anyway, and they’re not sure Lucan will believe them.

Sam waits until enough time’s passed for Lucan to have settled down in their room before calling the search bar back up and typing in three letters.

SSA.

They hesitate before clicking on the website. Do they really want to read this? Find out this way? Not via abolitionist articles or slave recovery forums, through the government’s own horrific site.

Lucan’s been through the whole degrading, painful process, though, so surely Sam can at least read about it. If they want to help Lucan they need to know what he’s been through, at least a little, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that they don’t have the faintest clue what they’re doing.

Navigating through to the page entitled For Owners, they click on the first document and, swallowing hard, begin to read.

Taglist: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

#sam and lucan #sam johnson #lucan oc #whumpee and caretaker #whumpee x caretaker #fae whump #fae whumpee #pet whump #Sam's in over their head #also I'm aware of the innacuracy of the corroding bracelet #and the unsafeness #but I wrote myself into a corner so #NEVER DO THAT AT HOME KIDS #alright there's my psa for the year #mute whumpee #whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper