#deconditioning

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, perfectly positioned just as he’d been told.

Standing in the corner of the living room, hands clasped behind his back, as life moves on around him.

Miss had tried to trick him, before. Patting the sofa seat next to her, an offer to sit down. Holding out a cup of tea, saying it was still warm. All these little temptations hadn’t worked. He knew better, he was better.

He was safer, there in the corner of the room. His joints ached and his muscles burned but his mind could go blissfully blank. Most of the time.

But today…

Miss had a friend over. They were talking quietly in the front room, he couldn’t hear what might be said but that wasn’t his business anyway.

When they both walked into the room, he stiffened further, casting his eyes to the floor.

“Do you really think…?” Miss whispered to her friend, and he hoped it wasn’t anything to do with him, but when they both looked up, directly at him… that hope was gone.

“Honey?”

“Yes Miss?”

“Um- I want you to come sit in the chair there. Go sit in that chair.”

She pointed to a big, squashy, luxuriously comfortable looking chair, diagonal from the couch.

His heart dropped, but he nodded. This was an order, no mistake about it. If he was punished for following an order, then- then it wasn’t really about obedience then was it? And there’d be nothing he could have done anyway.

He crossed the room, and carefully, carefully, sat down. It was harder, to be poised and keep his posture correct, if anything, it was more painful than standing, but he would do it.

Miss looked to her friend, mouth open slightly, as if shocked that he had obeyed. He felt faintly embarrassed, like he needed to prove now that he was obedient, this was just the first real order he’d been given.

“Okay,” she turned back to him, “Now, um… I want you to relax. Lean back, whatever is comfortable, please. Relax, that’s an order.”

He had to hold back a wry smile at that. Authority didn’t seem to come naturally to her, but…

He tried, he really did, to relax. His back popped audibly as he leaned back, and both Miss and her friend raised their eyebrows, looking… worried?

It felt…unnatural. Vulnerable. To be sitting, “relaxed”, with them standing only a few yards away. He hoped they would sit down.

“Good. Good job, you’re doing great, thank you.”

Her voice was gentle, genuine, and now… oh.

Suddenly he was holding back tears. It had been… it had been so long since he’d been good…

Miss and her friend sat down, exchanging a look he didn’t understand, and switched on the TV.

He was glad for that. He needed a moment, before he fell apart, a moment to fight back tears before they could fall and give him away.

A few minutes passed, and he had almost gotten it under control when…

Miss turned, face falling as they accidentally locked eyes.

“Oh- Honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you-” her voice dropped with concern, and despite years of practice, he couldn’t find the threat in it.

It felt real, and his logic couldn’t fight that, or the tears that overcame all his restraint.

“Sorry-“ was all he could manage, before Miss was up and too close-

He flinched.

All his training was falling apart, even as he kept his hands at his sides, tense as a bowstring.

“No, no don’t be sorry, I-“ she dropped to her knees beside his feet, looking back at her friend as if for help before looking back at him, “I was just trying to figure out what to do, how to help you… If you don’t want to sit, you don’t have to, you can stand, anything you want-“

Tears were forming in her own eyes, which confused him further.

From behind Miss, her friend stood up, coming over a few steps but still keeping a few feet between them.

That seemed to have a kind of effect on her, she looked over, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes, then looked towards the ceiling for a moment.

She let out a breath, looking back at him. “If there’s something wrong, or uncomfortable, I want you to tell me.”

An order.

He swallowed hard, and answered truthfully. “There is nothing wrong, Miss.”

“Then why- Please, tell me why you’re crying.”

That one was harder, it wouldn’t be something she would understand, which would mean more questions, more opportunities for error…

The team realise that the only way to decondition the feral/conditioned whumpee, is positive reinforcement.

The whumpee goes a week without snapping at someone? They get a new hoodie that's more comfortable than the one they'd been brought in with.

They finally eat the entire meal? Dessert.

They eat the entire meal without guarding it? They get a little extra time in the training rooms.

They independently choose to spend time with the team? They get to choose the movie/show/snacks.

They tell the caretaker they're hurt/sick? "Don't worry pal, you get the good drugs to take the pain away."

"What's that? You had a nightmare? Come on, join this game of cards to take your mind off it. I'm losing half my beer supply to this guy..."

Whump: psychological abuse, mind control, manipulation, identity altering, (de)conditioning, paranoia.

-

Mind control that doesn't dominate your thoughts, it just... is your thoughts. Perfectly rewriting your will and everything it embodies. Not a single trace of resistance because this is just what you want. Why would you resist your own thoughts? Why would you disagree with your own motivations, your own desires?

Mind control that doesn't shatter once it's done, it just disappears. You don't snap back into awareness. You barely even notice. You just continue as if nothing ever happened. Maybe one moment you look back and you frown, because thinking on it, you remember when you happily followed that person out of town, and you remember what you did, you remember wanting to... but that's crazy. Why did you think that was okay? Why did you want to do that?

Or maybe you were under this mind control for so long that even once it's over you look back and say, "Oh, of course I did that." As far as you're concerned you've always held the beliefs you do now. You've always wanted to do these things. You don't remember why, but you've never had to think of why, and it doesn't matter anyway when you've always been so confident that you're right. It isn't until you're challenged on it all and reminded that you never used to be like this, that you were different before, that something has changed that you finally falter. And you try to think of where this all started, try to figure out why things changed -- and all you can really remember is an entrancing pair of eyes, and a gentle suggestion, and then your own mouth responding, "That's a great idea. Let's go."

And suddenly, you realise that you have no idea how much of what you are, what you were, and what you believed you always have been is just a lie. You don't know whether any thought you have now is really yours or just another preciously placed prompt. You don't trust your impulses, you don't trust your desires, you definitely don't trust your judgement.

Young Weapons

A/N: Warning for Young/Child Whumpees (in recovery, no active abuse or whumping going on but still mentions of it happening in their past), if that bothers you please take care of yourself and keep scrolling. Otherwise, hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

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An older Caretaker signs up for some kind of government-funded care agency thinking it’ll be easy enough, they have experience in child care and majored in child psychology in college (before they dropped out halfway through their last year at least). Not to mention the pay was good.

However what Caretaker failed to realize until these kids were already under their roof was that reading the fine print was never something to skip. Their job wasn’t just taking care of traumatized, scared kids and young adults. Their job was to take care of traumatized, scared kids and young adults who were from an underground organization which would take homeless and orphaned children and use them in experiments. Their job was taking care of and deconditioning Living Weapons.

If they were completely honest, they were lucky enough to be taking in some of the more docile and less dangerous ones for their first several patients.

However.

These patients… were still kids. And they were still weapons.

And they fought like both of those things.

One Whumpee would want a turn with a toy or video game that another was hogging and didn’t want to give up, and if Caretaker failed to diffuse the situation first try, they quickly learned that it was a much better idea to let them fight it out and continue to live, rather than sticking around.