"No, but I am!" He taps her nose with a gentle touch. "Yer laugh is adorable."

501 smiles. “You don’t act like a Guard Dog. And that’s fucking amazing.”

"Because I'm not a dog. I may be treated like one, aye, but look at me. I'm a scoundrel," he chuckles. "Ye are amazing too. Don't think ye aren't. Ye are smilin' an' laughin'!" He tilts her head up with a finger under her chin. "If you ever get sad, remember ol' Cas and think of this moment, aye?"

“But I’m a dog.” She looks up at Cas, biting her lip. “I’m their pet. Means I’m not amazing. Means I’m not what you think I am.”

"No, ye are human. Ye are yerself and that is what makes ye special." Cas keeps his eyes on her and smiles sadly. "Ye are right. Ye are not what I think ye are. Ye. Are. More. I can't give ye meaning because ye are already so meaningful. And I promise that no matter how much time passes, I won't forget ye, yer laugh, or yer warmth."

“You’ve known me for five minutes,” 501 grumbles. “How can you be so sure?”

"Would you forget me in the five minutes ye’ve known me?" He retorts with a tilt of his head and a grin. "Also I'm sure because I can read people well enough to know ye are greater than even me."

“I’m worried that they’ll make me forget,” she whispers. “You’re the only person to have shown kindness to me since I woke up…here. I’m not better than you. I’m not better than anyone. I don’t matter.” Still, she buries herself further into the blankets and Cas’s arms.

"And I'll be there to remind ye hopefully... to make ye remember that there is good," he breathes out, his eyes softening so much for her. He truly does care for her in the short time he has known her. He holds her tighter and makes sure to keep her warm. "Ye matter. Yer life is precious. One of a kind just like me. And yer soul... is brighter than a supernova."

“I don’t believe you. What—“ She nervously twists around a piece of her hair. “What do you want from me in return for this?”

The question throws him for a spin. "What do ye mean? Like... a price for me kindness?" He is confused but he shakes his head. "I want ye to smile and laugh more. That's all. And if that isn't possible... hope. Hope that life will get better."

“I don’t have a life. I live to serve my owner.” 501 cringes at her own words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s normally…a price.”

"Not for me. Me affection is free and true. Genuine. I'd never sway ye like that for sadistic amusement. Plus, hugs and cuddles are awesome!" He cackles, trying to cheer her up. "Those are their words, not yers. Ye don’t really want to serve anyone."

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I fucked up again, didn’t I?”

"No, ye did what ye were taught. I can't be upset. I'm more saddened by it," he answers her in an even tone. He knows better than to truly be upset. "It's okay. Ye are safe with me."

“You’re too nice to me.” She hums and closes her eyes, leaning fully against Cas.

"And ye are too wonderful not to be nice to." He can protect her if it means fighting a handler. That is what they wanted right? He is non violent until something in his head clicked to protect. He can defend her until he can't. "Ye look tired... go to sleep. If ye want I could sing or hum a lullaby me mother sang to me–- at least I think she did." He can’t remember his mother. He knows he has one, or maybe had one. The song is still there. They can’t take it away from him. He still has his music to keep him company.

“Okay, sounds…sounds nice. I’ll try not to wake up screaming.”

Cas lets her get comfortable in his arms as his eyes finally settle on the door. He won’t let them hurt her... "Shhh, just breathe and let the waves of sleep take ye, lil lamb." He quietly hums a bit before his melodic voice takes over, his thumb rubbing against her shoulder rhythmically.

When he’s got 501 out of her clothes, his eyes go wide. “Holy fuck.” 501’s got some scars on her, some injuries that he didn’t find during intake, hidden by that stupid baggy shirt she was wearing when he grabbed her. She’s only been at WRU for two days, not long enough for all the marks to heal, and certainly not long enough for some of these scars to fade. 

“What?” Analyn asks. 

Greco gives her a long look. “You can come see, but don’t get too handsy.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to get too close to the fucking mutt,” Analyn says, walking back over. “Holy shit.”

Greco smirks. “Told you. Alright, let’s get this started before she wakes up and starts trying to bite. Hands are—”

“Start from the head and work down,” Analyn says. “Head, neck, torso, arms, legs.”

He glares at her. “Fine.” He turns all of his attention back to the pet on the table, reaching out to push her brown hair out of her face with his gloved hands, already planning her next punishment. “Tiny, tiny scar on her right temple. Practically unnoticeable.”

“Got it,” Analyn says. 

“Nose is crooked by…not much. Maybe half a degree. Shouldn’t be noticeable to any perspectives. Hell, I think it gives the kid some character.”

“Leave the personal comments out of it,” Analyn says. 

Greco rolls his eyes. Analyn Reyes is a good Guard Dog Handler, but she’s all protocol, no fun. Doesn’t bend the rules, not even with something like 501. The rules are meant to be broken when it comes to a feral, gorgeous mutt like her. “Faint scar on cheekbone, bruise on jaw,” he calls out. “My girl’s a spitfire.”

“Your girl is going to be a fucking menace, based on what you’ve told me so far.” Analyn taps her pen against the clipboard. “Need me to take the collar off so you can look at her neck?”

“No. I saw it when she came in. There’s nothing there.”

“You mean when you had her tied to a chair for days trying to see to see if she would break.”

“I’m glad she didn’t,” Greco murmurs, tracing his fingers across the trainee’s shoulders, admiring the strong muscles there. “I’m going to make her crumble into a million different pieces so I can be the one to tape her back together.” He pulls his hand away, only to slap her across the face. 

Analyn makes a face, seemingly annoyed. “Next thing?”

“Worried she’s going to wake up?” He shoots her a smug smirk. “I want to see what the kid was hiding from me during intake. All the damage that this body has taken.” He runs his gloved hands down her torso, lingering on a wicked two inch long scar, tiny dots from stitches on either side. “Well, hello there,” he says, running his hand over where the scar divots into her skin. “Kid got stabbed.”

Analyn looks over. “Seems like it.”

Greco’s eyes lock back onto the sleeping face of 501. “What else are you hiding, Marlow?”

“728501,” Analyn corrects. 

“Does it matter? I like knowing her name. Makes it so much better looking at her now.”

“Anything else on the torso?”

“Relax, Analyn.” Greco puts his thumb against 501’s lip, parting them. “I think she’d look amazing with some metal fangs.”

“Greco. Irrelevant.”

Greco shrugs. “Not to me.” He pulls his finger away from her lips, tracing her arms. “Few faint scars on the arms, looks to be shallow knife wounds. Her knuckles are bruised, but I guess I already knew that.”

Analyn makes the notes quickly, and Greco moves onto her legs. “A few various knife wounds on the legs. Nothing much. But damn. She’s muscular.”

“Already knew that.” Analyn frowns. “Flip her over.”

Greco eases his arms underneath the sleeping trainee and rolls her onto her stomach. What he sees makes him stop in his tracks, makes anger cloud his vision, his mind roaring with thunder. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Oh, *shit.*” Analyn keeps tapping her pencil against the clipboard. “How…”

501 has a massive bruise spanning most of her back, a combination of purple and angry red, swollen up from her skin. Greco gingerly reaches his hand to touch it, feeling how warm it is. It’s almost like 501 was attacked by a wild animal, thrown into the wall over and over again. If she hadn’t been walking this morning, Greco would have assumed something was broken. 

“How did this happen?” Analyn asks, her voice hushed. 

Greco’s still trying to figure that himself, running through all possible options in his head. It couldn’t have happened today, he hasn’t left his girl alone—

He went home last night and left her under Handler Robinson’s care. “That *bitch,*” he hisses, pulling out his phone and calling her. 

“What?” She answers in a bored tone. 

“What the fuck did you do to my dog?”

“She jumped at me. So I had one of my trainees teach her a fucking lesson.”

“No. Fuck that. She could beat the shit out of all your trainees.” Greco’s vision is going red at the edges, he can barely breathe. “Tell me the truth, Analyn, or I swear to fuck…” Greco’s got plenty of influence around here, just as much as Willow, but he has more…connections than her. 

“I’m telling you the truth. I had one of my trainees use her back as a punching bag while she was tied up and muzzled.”

“Who gave you permission to do that to her?”

“I have seniority over you, Greco. And she’s fine.” 

The line goes dead, and Greco stares at his phone, seething. “That bitch.”

Analyn snickers. “She had it coming.”

Greco stares at her “Don’t. Don’t even go there.”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll note this in the injury report.”

“The bitch mutt fucking hid this from me, too.” Greco grabs 501 by the back of her hair and yanks her head back. “Oh, kid. I’m going to teach you one hell of a lesson when you wake up.”

“I’ll forward this information over,” Analyn says. 

“And find out which one of Willow’s mutts did this to my girl.”

She gives him the middle finger. “Do I look like your fucking secretary? Figure it out yourself.” With that, she walks out of the room, leaving Greco alone with 501. 

He begins carefully redressing her. “I didn’t want anyone else to touch you,” he murmurs into her ear, not caring that she can’t hear him. “Those mutts are nothing like you. They’re worthless.”

Marlow Lancaster. 728501. Greco wants to ruin both. 

“I’m going to give you purpose, kid.” Greco grabs a muzzle, fastening it to 501’s face. “And I’m going to show you that you should never fucking lie to me like that. You tell me everything. Even if I don’t ask.”

It’s funny, how innocent she looks in her slumber. Like a true eighteen year old, barely old enough to vote, not even old enough to drink. But she’s not human. She’s a vicious, bloodthirsty mutt. 

“If you’re extra good—“ He runs his hand through her hair. “I’ll let you really fuck up the dog that hurt you. Wish you could hear me right now, kid. You’re mine. Understand? Mine.”

It’s laughable that she thought she could go to college. Something with so much potential shouldn’t bother with that.

“Let me go,” 501 rasps out, her voice subdued but her eyes blazing. “Let me go home.” She had a home once, she remembers, and it was…red? Maybe? It was in a building, two bedrooms, she can’t remember the word for it, and there were people there with her, but she can’t remember their faces. 

“You don’t have a home until a prospective buys you. You know that, 501, stop being such an idiot.” Handler Greco leans down to pull the animal control pole off 501’s neck. 

501’s hands are already restrained behind her back with rough leather cuffs, Handler Greco grabs onto the chain connecting them and uses it to throw 501 into a cage in the corner. “You’re going in sensory dep for a long time, mutt. That’s what happens to bad pets.”

“Not a bad pet,” 501 says, taking deep breaths. “I’m a person. I’m a person.”

“No. You’re not. You’re a Guard Dog. You’re an object for your owner. You’re the one in a cage right now. And you’re about to be locked away in a cage with no sight, sound, taste, nothing. I think I can see which one of us is the person here.” Handler Greco squats next to her, running his hand through 501’s hair. “Don’t get me wrong, 501, you’re a good Guard Dog.”

Traitorous pride surges through 501. 

“I’m serious. You’re talented. You’re good at telling how people are going to move, how they’ll attack. And you can use that against them. But you need to learn who you’re supposed to hurt. It’s not me, baby girl. It’s not me, or any of the other handlers.”

501 is completely tense, all of her muscles locked as Handler Greco pats her. 

“You don’t understand,” 501 whispers, a tear building in her eye. 

“What don’t I understand?”

“I have these…these things in my head, memories, and I wanna go back to them.” 501 sniffles. She’s tense.

“It’s false memories from the training. There’s nothing for you to go back to.”

Using the built up tension, 501 springs forward, slamming her head against Handler Greco’s face. I don’t have fake fucking memories. I had a real life. This can’t be fake. His nose cracks, blood spills into 501’s hair. She slides back, but Handler Greco doesn’t wait a second to hit 501 in the face with his baton. 

501 grunts with the blow and falls to her side, back in the cage. 

“You fucking bitch!” Handler Greco yells. “That’s it! I’m gonna put you in the fucking hood and leave you until you’re a fucking corpse. You’re gonna die from the silence! Jesus!”

501’s eyes go wide with panic when she sees Greco coming at her with the hood. “No, no, please, please don’t do it, please don’t let me die—” I can’t, it can’t go this way, I want to live, I have to, I have to get out of here.

“It’s too fucking late, 501. Stay still.”

501 would fight back if she could, but paralyzing fear keeps her still for Handler Greco to put the hood on.

There’s nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, even her mouth is devoid of taste. Hands are on her, maybe the last she’ll ever feel, putting a gag back on.

501 cries and it’s soaked up into the hood, she doesn’t even get to feel that. 

There’s nothing. 

She’s going to die like this, alone and trapped and a useless fucking Guard Dog. This is worse than physical pain, she’d take that over this any day. She would rather be whipped than sit here with her stupid broken head. 

Her memories are fake. There wasn’t a before. It’s just 501, and eventually, whatever her owner wants to call her. 

She wanted this. 

She’s good at this. 

It’s too late to beg. 

501 looks a nightmare. Her entire body is a purple bruise, her limbs are so bruised and ruined and look inhuman sticking out of her hospital gown. Her face is so swollen that she’s barely recognizable as herself. Leather straps encircle her wrists, ankles, calves, thighs, waist, biceps, neck, and forehead, keeping her pinned to the bed. A wire muzzle is tightly strapped over her face so she doesn’t bite. 

Greco sits down next to her, stroking her hair out of her face. “They told me you still have at least a week before you’re out of here.”

501 whines. 

“I know, kid. But I’m proud of you, you know?” He gently scratches behind her ear, and she leans into the touch. “You did a good job. You protected me.”

That feral Guard Dog that came at him during combat training cold have killed him. Instead, 501 jumped out in front of the dog, shielding Greco. He almost beat her to death until his primary was able to shock him into unconsciousness. 501 saved Greco, whether she meant to or not.

Their peace and quiet, Greco carefully petting 501 and her humming underneath his hand, only lasts a moment before 501 goes rigid, watching Greco like a cornered animal. 

Greco sighs. “Yeah, you’re too smart for this. Sorry, 501. It’s nothing personal.”

She cries out, a pained, pathetic yelp, and thrashes in her restraints. The heart monitor starts beating faster. 

“Settle,” Greco says. “I’ve just got one thing to test. Then you don’t have to see me for a week.” He likes her better like this, he likes 501 better than the girl that used to occupy that body. Still a feral little shit, though.

He places his hand over her bandaged one. “You were so good for me today. Really, 501. You’re going to be so good for your owner. Pretty little Guard Dog.”

She stops moving, the heart monitor slows, and she looks up at him weakly, begging with her eyes. 

Greco squeezes her hand in an attempt to reassure her. “Yeah. You’re good, kid. You’re good.” Some days he’s softer with her, he calls her kid, he doesn’t leave her in a puddle of her own blood but cleans her off in the shower and makes sure the other handlers don’t stare at her lustfully. He’s finally able to take all of her anger and hone it, she’s finally being good. 

She fights back, she swears, she bites, but at the same time, she’s his favorite trainee. Out of everyone he’s had, she’s his favorite. And he doesn’t know how to feel about that, considering how she got here. 

“Stay still, trainee,” Greco says, pulling a syringe out. The murky liquid shimmers under the harsh lights. 

501 whimpers, her hands clenching into fists. 

“Don’t make me get a full team in here, 501. They’ll make you still for me in ways you won’t like.” Greco takes the cap off and flicks the syringe to dispel any air bubbles. He can’t quite remember the contents. A paralytic, a hallucinogenic, maybe some pain inducers, definitely the fever inducers, something else that he can’t remember. Regardless, there’s a lot of potent drugs in there. 501 is going to be fucked up for a while.

This doesn’t go on the record. He’s made enough friends that everyone will look away when they see that drugs were taken with no supporting documentation. The nurses will keep 501 sequestered while she comes off it. All because Greco really wants to see what it’ll do, if he can threaten her with that again. .

For a brief second, Greco thinks, no wonder she’s so fucked up, if this is what she gets for good behavior. He’ll make a note in his records, though: positive reinforcement provided through verbal affirmations. 

Not using positive reinforcement can really mess a trainee up, and any handlers who don’t document positive reinforcement for good behavior can get investigated by internal affairs. 

But 501 can handle it, she’s a tough girl. 

She looks so scared and sad like this, her eyes wide, Greco could almost forget she’s a trained killer. 

If it wasn’t for the bite marks on his forearm. 

“You’re good,” he says again, grabbing her elbow and turning it over. “You’re good, 501.”

Positive reinforcement paired with punishments or negative reinforcement is proven to be detrimental to the wellbeing of a trainee and further success of training. Trainees who demonstrate good behavior should be given only positive reinforcement in the form of verbal affirmations, food, sleep, physical touch, and breaks from intensive training. Under no circumstances should a trainee be punished during the first twelve hours after good behavior. If a punishment is delivered, the trainee will begin to see good behavior and bad behavior as having the same result, so the trainee will act out more. 

Straight out of the fucking handbook. 

501 doesn’t cry when Greco stabs the needle into her arm and pushes the plunger down. He’s only seen her cry twice: when she wasn’t 501, but the girl before, tied to a chair in an interrogation room, and the sixth night of her training when she was resting. He peeked his head into her room and there she was, muzzled and curled up on a mat, tears silently streaming down her face. He never found out why.

Greco discards the syringe in a biohazard box and steps back from her. A small drop of blood wells up from the injection sight, he doesn’t bother wiping it away. Greco dists in the corner of the room. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here.” Only for an hour or just enough to get a good video of 501’s suffering. It won’t be very interesting watching her scream for hours and hours. 

“I don’t know how long it’ll take to sink in.” Greco chuckles. “Hell, I don’t even know half the shit I just gave you.”

501 makes a soft noise of fear and desperation. 

“No. The muzzle stays on, you know this, 501.”

Already the girl has stopped moving, stopped shifting around. 

“Paralytic kicked in first,” Greco notes. “Interesting.” 

501 makes another sad noise. 

“I’m sorry, 501, I told you that it’s not personal.” 

After another ten minutes, the heart monitor picks up again and a sheen of sweat is covering her body. “Are you in pain?” Greco asks as he scrolls through his phone. 

He gets a high-pitched whine in response. 

“Yeah, well, it’s only going to get worse,” he mutters. 

And it does, and 501 is left screaming into her muzzle so hard it leaves bruises for weeks. 

Positive reinforcement paired with punishments or negative reinforcement is proven to be detrimental to the wellbeing of a trainee and further success of training.

Leo tentatively follows. 

With the door shut, Greco immediately knocks Leo to his knees with the force of a bull. “Strip.”

Leo frowns. 

“Down to your boxers and undershirt. Come on, trainee. Don’t make me ask again. You’ll regret it.”

Oh. Oh. So this is how it’s going to do. Clumsily, Leo strips down for Greco. 

“Good. Stay, pet. Stay.”

Leo’s entire body is burning with the humiliation of being treated like this. 

Greco walks to the table and picks two things up, hiding them behind his back. “You’re learning a lesson, Leo. Today, you’re going to be 501. Now, pets always wear their collar.” Greco steps forward, and before Leo can flinch back, a shock collar is buckled onto his neck, one notch too tight. He can barely move his neck now, is this how trainees feel all the time? 

“Trainees such as 501 need extra security. You can classify these types as trainees with a history of biting who haven’t been fully broken in, trainees who came to WRU with backgrounds in fight training, Guard Dogs, and, in 501’s case, former Guard Dogs, although she checks all the boxes I just listed. Now, for this type of punishment, a ring gag is the incorrect type of gag. What you should have used is this.” Greco shows Leo the gag. 

There’s a leather strap that will circle around the back of his head, one that will go over the top of his head and split into two different straps that hold a rubber bit, and those two straps turn into the one around the back of his head. 

“Open, trainee,” Greco orders. 

Leo shakily opens his mouth. The bit is shoved in, stretching his jaw wide, and the rubber leaves a strange taste on his tongue. Greco buckles it in place. “Shit, kid, I don’t know. You might make a better pet than you thought.”

Drool is already spilling from his lips, he can see the leather straps and feel them and it’s entirely too overwhelming. But experiencing this, it doesn’t make him feel bad for 501 and 236 and the other trainees. It just makes him disgusted to stoop this low.

“Up on the chair,” Greco barks.

Leo scampers over and sits down, more than eager to get this done with. Greco picks up the restraints. “You pull these all the way and then some. Understand, pet? Tight.”

The leather digs into Leo’s skin and he knows they’re playing a scene, that he’s not actually a box boy, but shit, it sure does feel like it. He makes a muffled noise behind the gag, trying to tell Greco that they’re too tight, that his fingers are tingling, but no words escape. 

What pets think, what they want doesn’t matter. They’re just objects. 

Greco snaps on a pair of gloves and starts feeling around Leo’s hand. “I’m going to ask you some questions.. Trainees normally don’t get asked these, but I need to make sure you’re understanding the point of this. Nod if you agree, shake your head if you don’t.” Greco finds a vein and starts cleaning the area. “Do you feel like a person?”

Leo shakes his head. 

“What, you feel like a pet?”

Leo nods, tears threatening to fall once more. 

“Now, do you feel bad for the trainees?”

Leo tenses up as Greco makes a mark on his hand with a pen.

“Breathe. I’ll ask again. Do you feel bad for the trainees?”

Leo shakes his head, his fiery red hair falling in his eyes. 

“Good. Does 501 deserve this? After all, she signed the papers, voluntarily or assisted.”

Leo—a traitor to his own beliefs and a traitor to the strange bond he’s formed with the pet—nods his head vigorously, working his jaw around the gag. 

“Yeah. Bitch has it coming.” Greco pulls out the needle. “Once I inject you with the green stuff, it’ll take about five minutes for the effects to kick in. While we’re waiting, I’m going to put electrodes on you. Shock treatment is a thirty minute process. James can contact your folks to come pick you up because your brain’s gonna scramble.”

Leo shakes his head, eyes wide with fear. 

Greco sighs. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. Wouldn’t want my parents to know I was this much of a fuck-up either. You can stay in the clinic tonight and drive home tomorrow. Sound good?”

Leo nods. He’s so fucking tired of not being able to talk, like he’s an animal, like he’s a worthless pet. 

There’s a rush of cold as the green stuff is injected into his body. Greco steps back from Leo and starts getting the electrodes. “Lucky we have so many of these machines,” he says cheerily to himself. 

Leo can already feel the drug starting to work. His boxers and undershirt feel like weights on his skin, he’s glad Greco made him strip. A bead of sweat rolling down his arm is a trail of fire on his sensitive nerves. The IV in his arm feels like a monumental intrusion, the leather straps of the gag and the collar are killing him, fucking killing him. 

Greco sticks an electrode to Leo’s forehead and he moans in pain. It feels like he’s been stabbed, like his life is being sucked out of him. “Oh, you’re going to be a reactive one,” Greco chuckles. 

Leo loses count of the electrodes after ten, but he knows there are much more than that covering him. Every time a wire brushes his skin, he jolts violently. He half-wishes Greco let him take his shirt off, too, so he wouldn’t have to feel it like this.

“We’ll start on five and get up to ten,” Greco says. “When it starts to get too much, repeat a sentence in your head. ‘I’m a handler, they’re the pets.’ Nice and easy.”

Leo clenches his hands into fists and even that makes him keen. 

“Need me to count down for you, kid?”

Leo nods. He can’t do this, he can’t, he’s sweating so much he’s sticking to the table and he’s already crying and his tears burn his skin. His heartbeat is out of control, each beat of blood hurts, hurts worse than he imagined. 

“Shocks start in three…two…one.”

It’s fire exploding through a building, water crashing through a dam, his heart freezing and stuttering and the ceiling lights are getting brighter. 

His back arches off the table and maybe it’s his time to grow wings and fly away from this godforsaken place. 

It stops. It’s there in the absence of noise where Leo finds himself repeating the sentence over and over again.

I’m the handler they’re the pets

I’m the handler they’re the pets

I’m the handler they’re the

It starts up again. The machine delivers three pulses, each lasting two minutes, at one level before moving up to the next stage. 

Leo isn’t going to make it through this. He’s lost control of his body, letting the shocks travel through him and move his limbs every possible direction. His jaw is slack, and he’s lying in a puddle of his own drool and it’s coating his chin and shirt along with the sweat. 

Another shock. His brain is melting out of his head, he doesn’t even exist in the moments of reprieve anymore, he’s just swallowed by the pain and the fear and every nerve of his body lighting up from the brush of air on his pale skin. 

He’s about to go, he can’t take this any longer, so he clings tightly to one thing. 

I’m the handler they’re the pets

I’m the handler they’re the pets

I’m the handler they’re the pets

Over and over, it’s a cacophony, a whirlwind of noise, that one sentence on repeat because he can’t handle this anymore. 

I’m the handler they’re the pets

I’m the handler they’re the pets

He’s never touched her like this before. 

His hips, rolling into hers, her hands, tied to a hook on the floor in one of the Facility’s training rooms. 

Star knows it’s not real. Handler Greco’s never touched her like this before. 

“God, 501. I don’t know why I never did this.” His hands roam across her body, strangely gentle for someone who caused her so much pain. 

Her breath catches in her throat as she looks up at her former Handler, his eyes darkened by lust. “Because I was just a Guard Dog.”

“No. Because you were my favorite.” He pushes a lock of hair out of her face and his fingertips feel real but this can’t be real. “I never agreed with the decision to make you a Romantic. I thought it was a waste of a good fighter. But I don’t know. You’re good like this, aren’t you?”

Star holds her breath, looking up at his cold eyes. She’s good like this. She’s perfect like this. “You could have stopped them from making me into this.”

“No. You made your decision, 501. Killing a handler damned you and we both know it.” One hand holds her jaw, forcing her to look at him, the other snakes down, palming her breasts. “When Handler Hanford said that your worth is between your legs, did you believe him?”

Star sucks in a nervous breath, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. “Yes.”

“He was wrong. You were amazing, 501. But I should have fucked you sooner than this.”

“My name is Star. Not 501. But all you did was call me a fucking bitch.” Her eyes prick with tears as Handler Greco thrusts into her. 

He ignores her. “I was going to buy you, when I heard you were going to be a Romantic. I would have let you get trained, first, just to see how well he could do, turning my feral little thing into a sweet slut.” He speaks so gently for the words coming out of his mouth. 

“But I’m not yours,” she breathes out shakily. He’s making her feel good, why does this feel good?

“You could have been. And I bet you would have liked it, too.”

Star throws her head back against the floor, choking back a moan. “No, I-” She can’t finish the sentence, pleasure rippling through her.

“That’s what I thought.” 

There’s screaming coming from the other room, an all too familiar man screaming. Star’s head jerks up towards the direction of the noise. “S-stop, that’s Sunny.”

Handler Greco grins. “What are you expecting me to do about that, kid?”

“Help him!” This can’t be real, she didn’t know Sunny when she was under Handler Greco’s control. Still, the cries of her bonded make her heart race. 

Handler Greco moans. “You’re tight. You feel so good, 501.”

“My name is Star.”

“No. You’ll always be 501. Unless you were mine for good, kid. Then I’d give you a real name.” 

“Help him. Please, you have to help him.”

Handler Greco grins and rolls his hips, leaving Star gasping. “Even when it’s not real, you want to protect him. Funny how that works.”

Get off of me. Don’t stop. Star writhes underneath him, panting, reduced to nothing more than a desperate mess. 

“Yeah, you’re good, 501. You always were good in your own way, even if you never wanted to admit it.” He traces his hands across her sides, stopping to hold onto her hips with a bruising grip. “If I owned you, I’d fuck you with the muzzle on. Got that?”

Star nods, a tear sliding down her cheek. “F-fuck you.”

Handler Greco chuckles. “You know what this means, right?” He leans forward, his beard brushing against her jaw. “This is your dream, kid. You chose this. You chose me. You brought me here.” His tongue licks a stripe up her neck, and Star shudders. “You can wake up at any time you want. But you haven’t. Were you thinking bad thoughts about me?” His smile is all light and casual, his nails draw half-moons of blood in the soft skin of her hips. “You chose me. I’m honored, kid.”

“I want this. I want you,” Star says with a breathy moan, turning her head so he can have better access to her neck.

“Hanford teach you that at Romantic school? God, I want to fuck all those stupid trained thoughts out of your head.”

Sunny screams in the background. 

“This isn’t real,” Star whispers.

“Settle, girl,” he whispers back. A bead of blood rolls down her hip. “You know it’s not real but you still want him to stop screaming.”

Star nods, trembling as Handler Greco keeps fucking into her at a slow, leisurely pace. “Make him stop, Handler, please.”

He pulls away, lifting her chin up with two fingers and forcing her to make eye contact with him. “Kiss me, pretty little thing.”

That she can do. He was right, too, it’s her dream and she must want this, right? Star surges forward, her lips pressing against Handler Greco’s in a mockery of love. 

She can feel him smile, his tongue invading her mouth and his hips moving faster. 

The screams have faded from the background and Star is left wondering if this was all worth it, if the rising pleasure in her core negates the good she did by sacrificing herself so Sunny could stop screaming.

But he never was screaming, and it was all a dream so she must want this.

Right?

Handler Greco’s lips are on hers as Star builds to her climax, trying to hold herself at the edge. Blood drips from where his nails are in her skin. 

He doesn’t stop kissing her, not even as she starts to shake and moan and—

Star wakes up with a shaky gasp, the sheets stuck to her skin with sweat, aroused and angry at herself and tired. She slumps against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, tears rolling from her eyes. 

It was just a dream.

She can feel invisible bruises on her hips, his beard tickling in her face, his cedarwood, amber, and vanilla cologne stuck to her skin, his lips lingering on hers. 

She cries silently, careful not to wake up her bonded, where he sleeps peacefully next to her. Her tears soak into her hair, into the sheets underneath her. 

It was just a dream. 

Why did it feel so real? Why did it feel better than real? Why did it feel so right?

The door opens, but Star doesn’t bother lifting her head. She can’t bring herself to fight right now. 

Comet settles next to her, cupping her face in his hands. He doesn’t say anything. Neither does she.

Handler Greco just proved to her that she always was a whore. She should have thought back, she always fought back against him, but Sunny’s screaming…

No, she tells herself, a bitter, burnt taste on her tongue. You wanted him, you stupid slut.

Star pushes herself up, suddenly all too overwhelmed to be alone, and settles her head on Comet’s thigh, then bursts into tears, pressing her face into his jeans to muffle the sound. 

Star pulls herself to a sitting position. Se should get some water, take her temperature, get some meds. Instead, she picks up her phone. It’s just a flip phone with nine buttons, each programmed to dial a different number. She doesn’t have a smart phone, she wouldn’t be able to read the screen and type.

“Cas?” she calls out again, but doesn’t get an answer.

Fuck. Where is he? Why did he leave her? She needs the love of her life, needs him to hold her and take care of her.

Star’s hands tremble as she presses the third button, dialing Tina, one of their coworkers from the bar.

“Star? You’re supposed to be asleep. What’s going on?” Tina answers, the chatter of the bar audible in the background.

“Cas. Where’s Cas?” Star’s throat is painfully dry but she barely has enough strength to hold the phone to her ear.

“He’s here. He’s at the bar. Babe, are you okay? You don’t sound too good.”

Star’s brain searches for an answer, her thoughts running around in circles. Sweat drips down the back of her neck. “At the bar, at the bar, why is he at the bar?”

Tina pauses a moment before answering. “Because he has work. And if we weren’t so backed up, I’d ask if Russo could send him home. Star, can you do something for me?”

“N-no.” Star groans weakly. Her clothes, the sheets, they’re all sticking to her, she’s hot but she’s shivering and her skin is oversensitive, each bead of sweat makes her want to cry. The leather bracelet around her wrist is too heavy, she rips it off. “Who—who am I talking to?”

“Shit. Star, it’s Tina. Hey, listen to me. Cas said there’s a thermometer in the top drawer of the nightstand. I know you can’t read the number, but can you tell me what color it lights up?”

Panic bubbles up in Star’s chest. “W-where’s Cas?”

“He’s at the bar. He’s okay. You’re okay. Just get the thermometer and put it under your tongue.”

Star leans over in the side drawer and fumbles around for it, her vision spotty. She puts it where Tina told her to, waiting patiently.

“Star? You still there? Give me the color.”

Star pulls the thermometer out of her mouth. “It’s r-r-red.”

“I really wish you could read right now, babe. Just hang tight.”

“I don’t feel too good.” Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, she sniffles. “Where’s Cas? I want Cas, why did he leave me?”

“He didn’t leave you. He’s at the bar. Fuck, this is bad.”

“I don’t, um, I don’t feel so good.”

“Can you tell me what hurts?”

Star strips down to her undergarments, overwhelmed by heat. “My head and stomach and it feels so wrong,” she says, trailing off into a whimper and hiding her head.

When she looks back up…she doesn’t know where she is. 728501 looks around the strange room, her hands going to her neck, where there should be a collar but isn’t one. “My collar,” she says. “Where’s my collar? Handler Greco’s going to be mad, so mad…”

“Fuck! Star, please, listen to my voice.”

Star flinches at the sound coming from the phone, a single teardrop sliding down her face. “Who are you and who, who’s Star?”

“My name is Tina. I’m your friend. Your name is Star soon-to-be Belanger. You’re marrying the love of your life in two weeks. Please, I need you to remember.”

“Pets don’t get married.” The sweat has soaked into the roots of her hair now, shes so gross and sticky but she won’t get to shower until Handler Greco lets her.

“Babe, just hold on.” The girl on the other end—Tina—sounds frantic, setting the phone down on something. 728501 can still hear her talking. “Cas. Was Star acting off when you left?”

“A wee bit,” a man’s voice answers. 728501 doesn’t know who it is, but for some reason, the voice calms her a little bit, enough to get her shaky breathing under control.

“She doesn’t remember her name, or me, or anything. She’s got a fever. You need to go talk to Russo and see if he can call a replacement. I’m worried. She sounds…bad, Cas. I haven’t heard her like this in a while.”

“He can’t go. The kitchen is so backed up. I’ll ask Russo to let me go. I’m not the only bouncer tonight,” another male voice says. “I won’t be needed. You will, Cas.”

“But she’s me love!” the first man protests.

“It doesn’t matter,” the woman snaps. 728501 has forgotten her name because she’s a dumb mutt, just good at attacking. “Figure it out and fast.” The phone is picked up again. “Hey, Star, someone’s going to come help you, okay? Just don’t move. Stay in bed.”

“W-who’s Star?”

The woman sighs. “You are. It’s going to be okay. Please, try to—”

728501 slams the lid of the phone shut and throws it across the room. Handler Greco’s going to be mad, she doesn’t have her collar on. This isn’t the Facility, these aren’t white walls and that scares her. She’s not safe, she’s never safe.

The sweat dripping across her body is sending her into panic mode, her chest heaves. She can’t breathe. She can’t do this, whatever this is. She needs Handler Greco.

“I’m right here,” he says, settling on the bed behind her, running his hand through her hair. “Someone’s been bad, hasn’t she?”

728501 freezes, torn between running and obeying and she feels like death. “Yes, Handler.”

“Running away.” He clicks his tongue. “You’re not allowed to do that.”

How is he here, wherever here is?

He’s part of the reason she’s sick, 728501 knows that much. “I’m sorry, Handler.”

“You should be. Position two.”

728501 is moving without thinking despite how it makes her stomach turn and vision blur, dropping to her knees on the floor.

Wait…

This isn’t right. Handler Greco can’t be here. 728501 doesn’t know why, but she feels it deep within herself. She tries to stand up, but her muscles won’t move and it hurts so badly she feels like she could pass out at any minute.

“I did a number on you, didn’t I?” Handler Greco chuckles.

“Y-you’re not real,” 728501 stammers out.

“Finally. Using your brain. Good mutt.”

She’s crying freely now, the tears joining sweat to dampen her cheeks. “Go away.”

“Yeah. I can. But I’ll always be with you. After all, I’m the reason you’re sick. I’m the reason you probably won’t live past 25. 27, max.”

“F-fuck you.”

His hand is heavy on the back of her neck. “You know I’m right.”

“You’re not real.”

“No. But look. I still control you. I can still make you cry.”

The door swings open, rattling the whole apartment. “Star? Star, it’s Andy!”

Handler Greco smiles. “Bye, 501. We’ll see each other again.”

She keeps crying, even once he’s gone.

A tall, muscular man with a buzz cut, a beard and scars on his head kneels down in front of her.

728501’s eyes light up with fear, she slides backwards. “W-who are you?”

He holds up his hands. “My name is Andy. I’m here because of Cas.”

“Who’s Cas?”

Why does this man look like he’s about to cry? “He’s yours. And he really wants to be here right now but he can’t.”

“I don’t understand.” 728501’s stomach turns, she would throw up if she had anything in her.

“Look at me, short fry.” His calloused thumb runs across her cheek, brushing the tears away. “How about I get you into bed? Alright?”

728501 weakly nods, letting Andy lift her up and set her back down in the sheets. “Where am I?” she asks, her voice hoarse.

“You’re at your apartment. You share it with Cas.” He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “You gave us one hell of a scare, short fry. Can you open your mouth so I can take your temperature?”

728501 listens and obeys.

Andy frowns when he gets the reading. “Alright. That’s bad. Really bad. I’m going to call Cas, alright? I’ll put him on speakerphone for you.”

“Who’s Cas?” 728501 asks.

Andy sighs and just dials the number. “Cas, buddy, we have a problem,” he says once it connects.

728501 loves the voice that answers back. “Aye, I figured. How’s me wee lamb?”

“Fever of 104.”

Fever? Handler Greco only gave her fevers with the drugs when she was bad. Was she bad?

Andy shoves something towards her. “Look at this. I’ll be right back.” He passes 728501 a picture frame before jogging off, leaving 728501 only able to catch the last thing he says. “I don’t know, bud, I think she needs to go to the hospital.”

728501 stares down at the picture. It’s of a man with amber eyes and she immediately finds herself drawn to him, tracing her finger over his face. Why?

Because he named you. Because he saved you and you saved him.

Because you love him more than life itself.

She keeps her fingers tracing across the man’s face in the picture until the other man comes back.

728501 has already forgotten his name.

He leans over her. “Hey, short fry. How are you doing?”

She shakes her head. She’s too tired to ask the man his name.

He sighs and scoops her up; 728501 stiffens in his arms. “I’ve got you. I’m going to take you to the hospital and Cas will meet us there.” He looks nervous, shifting around. “We got to get my favorite bartender all healed up.”

“I can be good,” 728501 whispers.

The man looks at her, horrified. “I don’t want you to be good. I just…go to sleep. It’ll be okay when you wake up.”

She doesn’t know why she trusts this man, but she falls asleep in his arms, her head against his bicep.

***

Star’s eyes flutter open, she takes a ragged gasp and looks around. She’s in a hospital room, an IV in her hand connected to a bag of clear fluids. Panic builds in her chest—until she sees him, Cas, asleep on an uncomfortable chair. The love of her life.

Cas’s eyes flutter open and his face lights up when he sees her. “Lass!”

“He was here,” she croaks out. “Greco was here.”

His brow furrows. “No, me love. It was yer imagination.”

“Oh.” Star slides over to make room for Cas as he settles next to her in the bed. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s okay. I’m happy yer safe.”

She hums happily and nuzzles into his arms. “Don’t ever leave me.”