So much for writing anything in a chronological order! I spend a lot of time daydreaming during work and have just decided to go with whatever appeals to me. Think of it like the “Burger of the Day” board, but writing! Today’s special: Emmett back when he was still Jackson and how he ended up in Facility 004, featuring handler Rhys Snow.
This was inspired by @whumpthisway‘s April Is the Cruelest Month prompts -- specifically day 11. (Please note I am not an expert in how chloroform works on the human body and did very base level research; if you’ve got a way to make this scene work better please tell me!)
Enjoy!
Emmett Master List
Tags: @lave-whump, @pebbledriscoll, @highwaywhump (tag list is always open, let me know if you’d like added!)
Warnings: general bbu warning; drugging, noncon drugging, manhandling, alcohol, kidnapping, defiant whumpee, resistant whumpee, WRU general warning, Facility 004, derogatory language surrounding a kidnapped minor (i.e. Henry).
~*~*~
Rhys liked this guy. Sure, everyone liked their bartenders but Jackson was fun. He always had a story ready to make you feel better about your sad-ass self. He took shots with patrons to celebrate any occasion. He had a good laugh, a good smile, good shoulders and arms. Rhys was still reeling from his most recent breakup and Jackson had been helping soothe the sting. A charming man flirting with him wasn’t usually what Rhys went for, but he liked the attention, liked soaking it up.
“Your usual, Snow?” Jackson called from the bar as he walked in.
Rhys shed his coat as he walked to his usual stool. “You know it! Add a shot of something while you’re at it!”
“What kind of something?” He flashed that devil-may-care smile his way, tossing a rag over his shoulder. Rhys watched his hands as he picked up a glass, expertly pulling his usual stout. Good hands, expert handling. He didn’t see a lot of that even in his line of work; a lot of the trainees were thin little slips, their desperation apparent in the choice to sign the paperwork.
“Dealer’s choice,” Rhys shrugged. “But something strong.”
“Work shit again?”
“Yeah, same one too.” Rhys took a long drink, watching the other man as he moved to the back shelves. “He’ll be getting picked up in a week or two, so here’s to just getting through it.”
“In that case,” Jackson grinned, bottle in hand. He poured two shots and pushed one to Rhys. “Here’s to the little shit going far, far away from here.”
“Cheers to that.” Rhys knocked back the drink, squeezing his eyes shut until the slight burn passed. He set the tiny glass down, nodding for Jackson to pour another one. “Goldschläger?”
“Yeah, why?”
“That’s a fun choice with the beer.”
Jackson laughed, pouring another one for himself as he did. “I don’t have stickers so think of it as an adult gold star. For powering through, y’know?”
Rhys laughed too. He took the second shot, then reached for the beer again. “Hoo, that’s bad. Shoulda given it a minute.”
“Probably.” Jackson leaned away, taking the bottle with him. Another regular flagged him down from the other end. He winked at Rhys before he left. “Back in a flash.”
Rhys smirked and took another long drink. He let his eyes wander over to the other man again -- the curve of his back, the shaggy wave of his hair, the muscles in his forearms. To anyone else in the vicinity, it probably looked like Rhys was checking him out; looking for a rebound since Kayleigh had dropped him on his ass for her ex. Rhys wouldn’t have told them otherwise. In a way, he was.
Being a handler, he knew he evaluated people the same way he evaluated his latest trainee. What would they be good for, what could he make better, what he would have to get rid of or cut out of them, how much money they could go for. All that jazz. Jackson would fetch a pretty penny with his good looks and natural strength.
Four-hundred-thousand at the very least, maybe a combination too. Romantic and something else...
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it, eyebrow raising at the text message. It was from one of the Facility doctors. The governor’s kid was acting up again, had to put him under. You cool with that?
Yeah sure, do what you need to. He texted back quickly and took another extra long drink. The James kid was going to send him into an early retirement, Rhys thought bitterly. Sure he was a million dollar baby -- as were all the under-agers -- but was all that cash really worth having to deal with a bunch of wild card teenagers? Rhys didn’t think so and sneered at the thought of having another one to beat into submission. It would happen sooner or later.
Unless... he looked up at the bartender. Jackson was chatting with two women now, probably trying to persuade them away from the rosé that was really red and white mixed. Maybe flirting a touch too; Rhys would have if he was closer to them.
Instead, he reached for his cell phone again. Hey, you think you could meet me somewhere?
How far away?
Ten minutes tops. The Horseshoe Bar. I’ve got a potential recruit.
What do you need?
Something to chill them out. Catch my drift?
100%. Will put it on your windshield and text you.
Rhys grinned. I owe you one.
“What are you smiling about, Snow?” Jackson reappeared, filling another beer for another customer. His dark blue shirt was starting to stick to his neck. “Found yourself someone new?”
Rhys leaned back in his chair, easing into his usual pulling stance. He tilted his head in one direction, then the other. “Something like that. They had to put my trainee under.”
“Oh yeah?” Jackson snickered. “Never a dull day over at that place, huh?”
“Looking for another job?”
“Nah, I’m happy here. Besides, if I joined up, I wouldn’t get to hear all the good stories you have.”
“You’d get to see the good stories happen for yourself.”
“But then you wouldn’t get shots on the house and then where would we be?” Jackson grinned again, rakish and come-hither. Rhys bet it worked on a lot of the people who came in the door. Not him perhaps, not totally, but plenty of people.
“I guess you’re right about that.”
Rhys’ cell phone buzzed in his hand. Here. Good luck.
Rhys typed faster. Can you wait a minute?
Why?
New plan. I’ll be out in a sec.
Fine.
“Hey, Jacks?” Rhys tucked his phone back into his jeans pocket. “Can you hold my place for a sec. I left something at work and the person bringing it is in the parking lot.”
The man nodded. “Yeah, sure. Another beer?”
“Yeah, why not?” Rhys stood and made slowly for the door. A wide grin pulled at his face as he slipped outside. A silver sedan sat idling in the parking lot; he walked right up to the drivers’ side window, tapping his knuckle on the window.
The window rolled down and the man inside raised an eyebrow. “What’re you doing, Rhys?”
“Just chill for a minute.” Rhys rolled his eyes and smiled. “I’ve got‘im all warmed up. You got the stuff to mellow him out?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” A rustling sound came from inside the car and then a paper bag appeared in the window. “Here. It’s chloro. I figured you had a hankie or something on you.”
Rhys nodded, tucking the little bottle into his jeans pocket. “Perfect. Park somewhere and wait a minute. We’re going to stick him in your car, okay?”
“Why?”
“Easier exit. Sit tight!”
Rhys turned and rushed back into the bar. He sat back in his usual spot, tucking the bottle and his handkerchief into his coat pocket. The place was slowly starting to fill up, the second bartender now standing to help Jackson cover all the new customers. Jackson was pouring a few fresh beers, chatting with a few people. Rhys leaned forward, taking a long drink from his new glass. Perfect set up; this would be almost too easy.
Jackson found him again. “Got your stuff?”
“Yeah, not a big deal,” Rhys resumed his flirting stance. He could feel the moment when Jackson picked up on it, leaned into it, accepted the invitation. Excitement ran through him; the thrill of the chase coursing through him. He’d never done this part of the equation before. He understood why the guys who did liked it so much.
Jackson leaned forward on the bar, eyes shining just the tiniest bit. He must have done a few more shots when Rhys wasn’t looking; just making himself an easier target. “You know, no one’s ever called me Jacks before. I kind of like it.”
Rhys leaned forwards. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Especially when you say it.”
“You asked me earlier if I had found someone new, Jacks,” Rhys let his voice slip lower, warmer and richer. “I have, maybe.”
“Maybe? Why maybe?”
Rhys shrugged, taking another drink. “Maybe because it depends if you’ve got a good place no one would walk in on... and if you’d join me.”
Jackson hummed, making a show of thinking it over. He winked, pushing away. “Gimme a minute to get Haley to take over my spot and I can show you around.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Rhys reached for his coat, sliding it back on. He fingered the metal cap of the chloroform bottle, tapping his nail against the glass. If he took his time, he could douse the handkerchief inside his pocket, have it all lined up and ready to go by the time he got Jackson by himself. He held off. A better way might make itself available.
“Hey, let’s go,” Jackson whispered in his ear as he walked past, headed towards a narrow hallway. It led to the bathrooms, the door to the small kitchen, a door leading to the outside. Rhys followed a few paces behind him, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Waiting for the right moment, waiting to strike.
His next trainee wouldn’t be another crappy teenager.
The idea made him grin even wider.
He moved quickly when the door shut behind them. He pushed Jackson up against the painted brick wall with one hand, watching the man’s eyes flash excitedly. Fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him for a crushing kiss. Rhys let it happened, relaxed into it, pushing up against the other man like he was one of his girlfriends. Jackson wriggled underneath him, grinding against Rhys’ leg.
Rhys smiled into the kiss. He pressed in closer, pulling the bottle and handkerchief out of his pocket. He blindly doused the fabric, dropping the bottle without another thought. He let his free hand slide up Jackson’s neck, tangling in his wavy dark hair and pulling slightly.
Jackson broke the kiss with a laugh. “Geez, you’re good.”
“Yeah?” Rhys pulled again.
“Oh yeah.”
Rhys grinned. It was too fucking easy. He tightened his grip in Jackson’s hair, slamming his head into the wall once. The honey-warm look went dazed and confused, pain flashing across his face. Before he could re-focus, Rhys covered his nose and mouth with the soaked rag, shoving his knee hard between Jackson’s legs. The sharp inhale was the first nail in the coffin. Jackson’s eyes went wide, hands scrabbling at Rhy’s wrist and arm. Rhys only pressed his hand harder, pressed the other flat against Jackson’s throat.
The fight started to drain out of Jackson as his eyes started to glass over, focus leaving him. Rhys pulled the rag away when he was on the verge of collapse, shoving it into his pocket and catching the other man’s whole weight as he stumbled forward. Jackson tried to push away, tried to keep up the fight but he couldn’t.
Jackson scratched hard at his neck, coughing and gagging “Th-the fuck’re you doing?”
“Calm down, babe.” Rhys wrapped an arm around his back, dragging him towards the parking lot and the silver sedan. “You’re gonna be just fine.”
“Let go’f me. F-F-Fucker.”
“In a second. In a second,” Rhys answered, victory laced through his tone. No more stupid teenagers. He just had to get the man in the car. The rest would take care of itself.
He opened the door to the backseat. The man in the front seat turned around, looking almost bored with his appearance. “This the one?”
“Yep,” Rhys answered, shoving Jackson backwards. His head cracked against the opposite door, curling in on himself in pain. “You go on ahead, yeah? I’ll meet you there.”
“You got him good enough? I don’t want to lose an ear because he’s not limp enough.”
Rhys rolled his eyes. “Chill, Insung. Just slam on your breaks a few times, knock him around. I’ll be right behind you.”
Dear Anon who wrote this ask from last week: I am working through your list of prompt words and I’m enjoying every second of it. This is for the prompt “earsplitting” and takes place immediately after Troubled & Confused in Emmett’s story. Thank you for all the prompts and I hope you enjoy!!
tag list: @pebbledriscoll, @lave-whump, @highwaywhump (let me know if you would like added or removed from the tag list!)
warnings: BBU general warning, referenced drugging, held against one’s will, referenced kidnapping, loud sounds (ear whump? sound whump?), captive whumpee, defiant whumpee, vomiting/emesis mention, manhandling, Facility 004, implied future medical whump. Let me know if I missed anything!
~*~*~*~
“Can I have water?” Jackson whines to the empty room around him. They They had to be able to hear him. They had to. “C’mon please? Just a little water? It’s been a long time...”
He didn’t know how long he had been in tat windowless grey room. Long enough for him to come out of his drug induced haze and vomit in the wastebasket they’d left in there with him. Long enough to check the locked door, yank on the handle, throw his shoulder into it then a chair. An alarm had gone up, sharp and shrill in the small room, sending him to the floor with his hands clapped over his ears. It had ended the moment he shouted a tearful apology over the shrieking sound. He had retreated to a corner, nursing his aching ears and a splitting headache building in his skull.
Of course they were watching.
They wanted those stupid contract papers signed so badly.
“Can I have some water?” He called again, voice cracking uncomfortably. “Or coffee..? A cigarette maybe? I’d go for a cigarette... I don’t even smoke. I’d take a cigarette... or just about anything right now.”
He could practically hear them laughing at him. Rhys and that other guy who drove him here hours and hours earlier. Song-something... he wished he could remember properly. He’d need it for a police report when these assholes realized their mistake and let him go. Because they would let him go.
He would be getting out here.
Jackson was not going to be a pet. He didn’t want to be and they had policies around that. Everyone who signed up wanted to sign up, wanted to be there, just like he wanted to be back behind the bar, teasing Haley and Jamie about whatever came up that day, stuffing his front pockets full of tips. They had policies and systems in place -- everyone said so. He just had to make sure they knew he didn’t sign up for this, that Rhys had pulled one over on him.
Jackson was not going to be a pet. He didn’t bend over for anyone unless he wanted to. And he didn’t want to.
“Ain’t no way... They won’t make me. It was a mistake, they’ll figure it out.”
A knot formed in his throat. He tried swallowing it back but it wouldn’t budge. If he closed his eyes, he was back behind the bar with Rhys, letting the man touch him until his head smacked the bricks. His ears rang the whole way to the facility, rolling around in the backseat of that other guy’s car. His ears rang now, the sharp sound from earlier still resonating inside. Deep down he had accepted a bitter truth -- that he wouldn’t be getting out of here.
The look on Rhys’ face the night before, in the early spring dark. The sound of his voice after the sour-smelling drug filled his nose. The way he had shoved him into the backseat.
Rhys meant what he had done.
Rhys intended to keep him.
“Fuck,” Jackson breathed. He pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his hands. There was stubble scratching at his palms. It was probably the next morning. His stomach curled and tossed again -- nerves now, not the after affects of the drug Rhys had used. “Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!”
He scratched his fingernails against his scalp, pulling on his hair and hoping it would bring him back to reality. He’d wake up in the backseat of his car in the bar parking lot, just like he did that one Fourth of July. Or every Fourth... he didn’t really keep track of those things, knowing moving on would be better for everyone in the end.
Moving on wouldn’t help him here in the end.
Moving on would get him sent off to some rich fuck’s kitchen or worse.
“Fuck, I just want to go home,” Jackson whispered to his hands. “God, I actually want to go home... Fuck, fuck, fuck... I’m not getting out of here.”
He pulled himself up, staring at the ceiling for a long minute. Then he pulled himself up to standing, rolling his neck and shoulders. He walked slowly around the perimeter of the room once, twice... he lost count of how many times, how many times he changed directions until he finally made up his mind.
He stood against the far wall, glaring at the sealed door. If he was going to get brain washed and sold off, he might as well fuck shit up on the way out. Nothing to do but make their lives miserable. He’d heard all of Rhys’ stories about that nineteen year old from Manhatten he had been shaping up the last few months. He knew exactly what pissed the man off, what might end this nightmare up before it even began.
“Alright then,” he whispered to himself. He pushes his sleeves further up his arms, past his elbows, and presses his fingers into his shoulder muscles. “Maybe they’ll just fucking kill me...”
He stepped forward, grabbing the back of the chair and dragging it around the room. He relished in the scraping sound. Menacing, kind of like a horror movie. It seemed fitting. Once he felt right about it, he lifted the chair up and flung it into the wall. He grinned at the clang, waiting for the shrieking alarm to sound again. When it didn’t, only felt the urge to keep at it.
He pushed over the table, sending the contract and the pen he was supposed to sign it with flying. He reached for the chair again, slamming it over and over and over into the door, grinning wildly when he saw the metal casing begin to dent.
“Eat my shit, Rhys!” he shouted at the ceiling. “You’re gonna miss me some day, you motherfucker!”
And then the siren went off. High-pitched and wailing, reverberating off the metal doors and cinderblock walls. The small space seemed to amplify the shrill sound, piercing his eardrums like a hot needle. He clapped his hands over his ears, backing up into the wall and slumping against it, but not falling over like the time before.
“I’m not apologizing this time, motherfuckers!” He shouted over it. “If you want to sell my ass, you’re gonna have to work harder for it!!”
The sound seemed to get even louder. Jackson curled forward, his head practically between his knees now. But he wouldn’t let them buckle, wouldn’t let himself his the floor. His head screamed, skull near shattering from the vibrations alone. Tears streamed down his face and jaw, slicking his palms.
“Is that all you’ve got, dipshits?!” Jackson shouted hoarsely.
He braced for the sound to get even louder. Instead, it shut off completely, hitting him in a staggering wall of silence before footsteps sounded outside and the handle of the door moving. When it opened, Jackson stumbled sideways for the wastebasket, flinging it blindly at the handlers.
Then he was on the floor, a pinprick feeling going deep into his arm. He managed to keep himself awake for long enough to see Rhys crouch down next to him, feel the man’s fingers card through his hair.
“You know what?” he said with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I think we can bypass the contract. Let’s take a nice, easy trip to the medical rooms why don’t we? Get all this anger out of his system once and for all huh?”
“What was wrong with them?” + whoever you want for the five sentence thing !
Hi there, anon! Thank you so much! I’m going to do this for Emmett’s second round in the facility, so I hope you enjoy!
cw: bbu general warning, training, conditioning, memory loss/recovery, facility operations, implied medical whump
~*~*~
“What’s wrong with them?” Handler Nora Khan asked, studying her latest subject through the one-way glass. The man was shivering, eyes darting around the room like a spooked animal. She had read the file. Paper and ink could only tell her so much, and she hadn’t expected this.
“Facility four,” Amelia Brennan answered in a bored tone. She inspected her nails, then checked her wristwatch. “Another botched wipe. He thinks he’s talking with ghosts or he’s haunted or some shit.”
Nora hummed. Her eyes never left the man. “What is it, the eighth one this year?”
“Yep and its only June... Webster needs to watch himself or Madam Director is going to have his head on a pike.” Amelia sighed. She had been up late the night before handling the paperwork for another confidential trainee -- the paper coffee cup in her hand said as much. “So... you taking this one over?”
Snow was! The first time around, Snow was his handler Facility 004. But Emmett’s first owner took her complaints up with Karen Renford directly and, when he was returned, he was returned to Facility 001 for better oversight.
Let’s just say this, anon: Rhys Snow is completely unaware of Nora Khan, but Nora Khan knows all about Rhys Snow.
(I may or may not have plans for these two... so hang tight for more scenes of regular office water cooler conversations but about awful awful things!)
I’ve been hinting at a piece revolving around Dr. Uma Cochran and her attempted recruitment by Facility 004 for a while now. While I don’t have plans for anything longer at the moment, today’s @whumpmasinjuly prompt seemed like an excellent opportunity to play in the space. This takes place quite a bit before the current timeline (i.e. in this Kieran is maybe 9-10 years old and he’s almost 32 when he meets Henry for the first time). If anything trips you up, I’m always around for questions, so please don’t be afraid to ask!
Enjoy!
Cw: bbu; referenced conditioning, training, pet whump, medical whump, manipulation.
~*~*~*~*~
Uma chewed her lip as she drove the highway, taking them safely home. The car speakers played public radio but she couldn’t focus on it. She kept glancing into the backseat, her subconscious making sure that her son was still there. He was, swinging his legs and reading with his thumb in his mouth.
She should never have brought Kieran with her. She hadn’t thought anything of it when she had been invited for a tour. Kieran and Felix often came with her to conferences and symposiums without fuss. This time should have been no different from taking a tour of a University’s new surgical wing. It was just supposed to be an easy day trip, an excuse to spend some time in the car just the two of them.
She hadn’t thought anything of it.
She was kicking herself for not.
The Facility was deep into New York State, out in the boondocks and employing most of the young men in the nearby town. She had been expecting a rehabilitation center — that’s what they had told her over the phone — not a prison.
Uma prided herself on seeing things for what they were at first glance. Seeing the flaws and minute cracks, scraping back the shine and gleam to see the often rather dull underside. Uma had been lied to, but rarely tricked. She had been tricked, plain and simple. By smiling people in uniforms, not scrubs, who seemed to think their Business As Usual was perfectly acceptable.
Young people, deprived of names, locked behind sturdy doors lining a long hallway. “Re-Training Rooms” that used equipment last seen in long-defunct mental institutions. Food was the bare minimum. Restraints were liberal.
It looked like a bad conglomeration of every horror trope ever invented, like a poor recreation of one of the frightening movies Matthew occasionally watched.
And Uma couldn’t scrub it from behind her eyes. She likely wouldn’t sleep that night.
The farther away they drove, the safer she began to feel. The less terrified she became, the less worried she was that her son would be looked at, sized up, lured away. She had kept a strong hold on him the whole time, for her own sake. Kieran was always well-behaved, but Uma knew she would have to watch him closely for the next few days. Anything he saw could trigger some dark memory about his birth mother, could remind him of something that would rattle him. She had done her best, scooping him up and pressing his face to her scarf, but she couldn’t control what he saw.
She could have controlled it if she hadn’t brought him.
She shouldn’t have brought him.
Uma was not one to make poor choices, especially when they related to her boys. She wouldn’t dream of putting them in harms way without an excellent and thoroughly-vetted reason. She should have looked into the company more, should have done a little more research, should have just let Matthew handle both the boys for the weekend he had done it plenty of times before —
“Mama?”
Uma blinked, eyes flickering up to the rearview mirror. “Yes, moosham?”
Kieran set his book in his lap and pushed his glasses up his nose. “How much longer?”
“Only an hour,” Uma smiled, working to keep her voice even.
“Promise?”
“Promise. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, fine,” Kieran shrugged. “I’m almost finished with my book and don’t have another one. So I wanted to know how long.”
Uma nodded, turning back to watch the road signs. “Not long then, and tomorrow we’ll go to the library for another one.”
“Really!”
“Mhmm, my treat for you being so well-behaved today.” Uma’s throat tightened as soon as she said the words. She had heard something similar in the facility.
Since I'm new to your blog and having trouble finding anything, can you tell me what's been established about facility 004 so far?
Well, first things first, anon:
Hello and welcome to the campfire! I’m very happy to have you here :)
Second, your ask:
You’re very much in luck on the Facility 004 stuff. I only started brainstorming it 2 days ago, so you jumped in at the very beginning. I do most of my writing/planning in physical notebooks, but hope to post some Facility 004 content here soon!
All I’ve established is that it’s in Upstate New York and processes most of the orders for New York City And New England. Henry was trained there by Rhys Snow, one of the handlers, and I have 2 names for their on-staff lawyers. But that’s it, so stay tuned!
Thank you so much for asking anon!
(Oh! One last thing: If you ever need help finding anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask! I’m always happy to help!)
Henry/Nicholas choking on a thermometer is excellent vibes, now I’m imagining Henry in training coming down with a fever and having the same thing happen to him but with much less care 😌
@card-games-and-pain
This is so dastardly and I'm just in love with it, I can't even tell you. I'm been planning some really awful Facility 004 scenes featuring Emmett, the new oc, but I realize there isn't much of Henry in there...
Emmett's story is giving me a lot of runway to world-build out Facility 004, so it may give me the wiggle room I need to write a few scenes of Henry's training :)
