A/N: This is one of the darker chapters in this fic in regards to the craptastic world. It's mostly worldbuilding, so you won't miss anything if you decide to skip it.
Spoiler CW: Birth in detail, baby-mother separation, POV of someone with dementia, casual references to noncon. See the end notes if you need to know how to skip any of it.
The slave screamed, her whole body tense as she pulled at the straps holding her hands and feet in place. Sweat ran tracks down her red face, and she threw her head back with a sob as her body went lax. The metal collar around her neck blinked yellow, warning anyone around her that it was inactive.
Meghan watched in interest and jotted a few notes before walking to the next window for a better angle. It figured that most of the boys were stuck watching the naked slave's breasts heave and glisten; she was more interested in the other end.
It was a shame they couldn't hear what the nurses said as the slave tensed up again, her teeth bared before her mouth opened wide for another scream. Meghan clenched her legs closed in sympathy as she watched. There was no way in hell she'd ever put herself through that.
The bloody bulge between the slave's legs grew bigger until she collapsed again, worn out from pushing. A nurse with curly red hair patted her knee in a comforting manner before reaching down to check on the baby's progress.
Meghan felt a person move next to her and a familiar voice said, "Man, I can't believe that free people sometimes do this without meds too. It's unreal."
Meghan grinned and looked over at her girlfriend as the slave started screaming again. "Oh come on, aren't you all about the miracle of life and natural things should stay natural?"
"Nuh-uh, not on this one. Give me all the drugs." Wanda said as the muffled screams died down again.
The red-head nurse spoke to one of the technicians before reaching for a bottle and squirting gel onto her gloved hand. The instructor narrated the actions. "As you can see, there hasn't been much progress, so the nurses are going to help it out with a bit of oil."
"Man, I'd let her oil me down," one of the boys in front said with a smirk. One of his friends jostled him with a laugh and the instructor sighed while looking at the ceiling, as if looking for eternal strength.
"Thank god Ken isn't going into gynecology…" Wanda muttered as they watched the nurse rub around the baby's head and the entrance to the birth canal.
"Thank god I'm not going into gynecology," Meghan answered, shuddering as the slave pushed and the bloody, wet mess between her legs started moving again. "I really don't want to see this every day."
"I don't know, I think it's kind of neat." Wanda tucked her hair behind her ear and peered closer. "No matter how different we are… we all come into the world the same way, you know?"
A scream cut them off, louder than all of the others, and the baby's head became fully visible along with a rush of fluid. The nurses bustled around in a well-practiced routine, and the red-headed nurse called out to the slave. The slave pushed one last time and the rest of the baby fell out.
Meghan shuddered again at the cord still running into the slave, unable to look away as she imagined what it must feel like.
"Umbilical cords and placentas are useful in research and will be saved once they've been detached," the instructor said as they watched the nurse clamp the cord and cut it. "Blood samples, hair samples, stool samples, meconium samples, and the readouts from the labor will all be available to researchers as well. Much of our medical advancements are due, at least partly, to the slaves we've been able to study."
One of the nurses took over for the red-headed nurse, pulling the cord as the slave gave another push. Meghan tore her eyes from the large afterbirth that came out and eyed up the crying baby that was now being held in front of the window for all of them to see.
"Naaaah, sabimbaaaaa, babanish eowai," Wanda sung under her breath.
Meghan giggled and nudged her. "Those are so not the right words."
"Yeah? And her name's not Rafiki. Your point is?"
"The infant appears to be in good health," their instructor reported. "Regardless of the owner's choice, it will be brought to the nursery for the night. All slaves are given bromocriptine after birth to stop lactation, unless their owner requests otherwise. Once all medical interventions are complete, the collar will be re-engaged. Any questions?"
Wanda asked her question quietly. "So, what do you think? Want to get ice cream after this?"
"Is it weird that that actually sounds good?" Meghan asked as the red-headed nurse put the baby on a scale and glanced through the window. For a split second, the nurse locked eyes with her before looking back down at the infant in her charge.
The class moved on from the observation room, and the nurse's eyebrows rose as she read the number on the scale. She spoke to the wiggling, angry baby, "Nine pounds, eleven ounces. No wonder you gave your mother such a hard time." The baby responded with another squall and she chuckled. "Yes, I suppose that's fair. Would you like to meet her?"
She cradled the infant and walked him over to his mother. "He's a boy. A very big boy. And very healthy."
The mother gave an exhausted smile as she looked at her baby, and the nurse carefully laid him on her chest. The doctor at the back of the room signed several papers before walking towards them. "Nurse Gale, is the infant ready to go?"
"Not yet," Gale said, speaking gently for the sake of the infant rather than the impatient man. "Regardless of what you think of slaves, they still have the same hormones we do. She needs this if you want to keep her 'functional'."
"Fine. Then you get to fill out the paperwork." The doctor rolled his eyes and left the room.
Gale huffed, mentally counting down the days until the regular doctor came back from medical leave. She glanced around the room before quietly releasing one of the mother's hands. She smiled at the shocked look on the woman's face. "Call it nurse's prerogative. You deserve to hold your boy."
"Thank you, ma'am," the mother murmured as she placed her hand on the baby's back. He quieted at the touch and closed his eyes, his cheek pressed to her chest.
If only she could capture this moment for them, stop time and let them stay in the safety of each other's embrace. But the world kept turning, uncaring of the individual lives it carried. Gale walked slowly to the back of the room to gather the papers, giving them as much time as she could.
This part of the job was one of the hardest. She stretched protocol as long as she could before walking back to the mother and watching them for another second. She finally had to ask, "Do you know what your owner chose?"
The mother swallowed thickly and ran the back of her finger down her baby's cheek. "Yes, ma'am."
Gale looked down at the sheet, wishing she would see something different than the 'Owner chose to surrender' option being checked. "I'm sorry. I can't give you much longer."
The mother's eyebrows scrunched together as tears gathered in her eyes. She opened her mouth several times before her face set in determination and she asked, "Do you know where he'll be sent?"
She tensed, as though expecting to be hit, and Gale stayed completely still as she made a fast decision. "I believe the Santa Barbara Homestead is taking them now; it's clean and has a good reputation, and they keep some children longer to help with the youngest ones."
Technically that was confidential information. But technically she wasn't telling a person about it, so it was fine. The mother nodded in understanding as tears ran down her cheek. She pulled her baby forward and kissed his forehead, whispering to him, "Be brave, and be good." She leaned in closer, speaking too softly for Gale to hear. It didn't matter, she could still see the words being shaped by the mother's lips. 'You are loved.'
Gale looked down at the paperwork and said quietly, "There's a spot for a name to be given. His owner can change it, of course, but I've always been terrible at thinking of names on the fly. Do you have any ideas?"
The mother's eyes grew large and her mouth moved soundlessly. Gale waited, keeping her eyes on the paper and not moving a muscle. Only about a quarter of the slaves she'd worked with had been able to give her a name, but she always offered. It was the least she could do.
"Stephen," the mother whispered, almost like a prayer.
Gale nodded and carefully wrote it down on the sheet where a tracking number would eventually be assigned. She sighed as she put the papers in their envelope and held out her hands. "I'm sorry, dear, it's time for me to take Stephen now."
The mother let out a quiet sob before kissing her baby one last time and letting him go. Gale picked him up and cradled him close as she promised, "We'll take good care of him."
"Thank you, ma'am," the mother said around her tears.
"You're very welcome." Gale carried the baby to his crib and made sure he was as comfortable as possible before wheeling him out of the room. She thought about all of the unfair choices she'd had to watch over the years and was glad that it still wasn't easy. She didn't want it to be easy.
She turned down a hallway and nodded to a slave mopping the floor. He nodded back, his eyes seemingly never leaving his task. The nurse continued her journey to the nursery as the slave continued his job, his old, wrinkled hands performing the motions they did every day without thought.
The slave didn't need supervision; it had been years since someone had needed to check that he was being good. He was as much a staple of the hospital halls as the antiseptic smell, the sound of beeping, and the numbers on the walls. He turned down a hallway and cleaned up to the doors that led to the reception area. He glanced through the window as he turned, seeing the world that he'd never step foot into again.
People sat and played on their phones as they waited for appointments, other people talked to each other behind the front desk, and an old lady with a slave was browsing the pharmacy. The slave met his eyes and gave a nod before looking back at her master, who was squinting at the bottles of medicine on the shelf. The lady reached for one bottle before pausing and grabbing the one next to it, oblivious to the mopping slave who had disappeared back from where he'd come.
"How does anyone ever read these things?" she grumbled, squinting at the words she couldn't quite read on the small label. "Shelly, is this the one that will help my stomach?"
"No, ma'am," her slave answered, her voice as light as her blonde hair. "I believe the one you want is there."
She pointed and Edith looked in its direction, the purple cap on the bottle making the right medicine easy to see. "Ah, of course. Thank you, dearie."
"My pleasure, ma'am. Would you like me to put away the medicine that you're holding?"
Edith looked down at the bottle in her hand. Now when had she picked that up? "Huh. Would you look at that. Is this the one we need?"
"No, ma'am. You need the one with the purple cap, remember?"
Of course she remembered. She was old, but her mind was still like a trap. A steel trap. She put the bottle she was holding in the slave's waiting hand and reached out for the bottle with the purple cap. "Good. I think that's all we need. Isn't that right, Samantha?"
"Yes, ma'am, that's all we need from here," her slave answered as she put a bottle away on the shelf. "You still need to pick up your prescriptions from the counter."
"Well of course I still need to pick up my prescriptions. Why else would we be in a pharmacy?" Edith shook her head at simple-minded slaves and hobbled over to the counter. "Hello? I'm here to pick up whatever new pills the doctor has decided I need that won't work."
"Of course," the woman across the counter said with a far too bright smile. People who smiled too much were probably hiding something. Edith would have to keep a close eye on her. The untrustworthy woman typed on her computer as she asked, "What's the last name?"
"Wouldn't you like to know. I know all about you people who try to steal my money. You won't get any information from me!" Edith turned around and her eyebrows went up in shock as she saw the blonde woman standing next to her. "Ellie! Why, look at you! What are you doing here?"
"Hello, ma'am," Ellie said with a smile. How strange, why would her daughter be calling her 'ma'am'? Maybe she'd just misheard 'mom'. Her hearing aids never acted right. "I came by to check how you were doing. Didn't you tell me you needed your medicine?"
"I do need my medicine, but this lady is asking too many questions." Edith pouted and turned to the untrustworthy woman whose smile wasn't quite as large anymore. Good. She should learn to be more trustworthy like her Ellie.
"Can you tell me her name?" the lady asked Ellie. That wouldn't work; her daughter was smarter than that.
"Her name is Edith Monroe, ma'am."
"Ellie! Weren't you the one who warned me about those charlatans and con men? Now she's going to hack me!"
"No, ma'am, she's going to help you."
Poor, sweet, innocent Ellie. Always too trusting.
A white paper bag was placed on the counter and a basket was handed over with more things being scanned. Edith frowned at the pile once everything was done. Did she really need that many things? Surely the bottle with a purple cap wasn't necessary…
"... Ma'am. Do you have cash or a credit card?"
Edith blinked and looked up at the woman on the other side of the counter. She had a nice smile. "I don't use those cards. Who knows what can be tracked with that."
"Of course, so you'll be paying with cash?"
Yes, that made sense. She always paid in cash. Everyone just over complicated things these days. She reached into her large purse, digging around for the wallet she knew had to be there. A strange shape ran into her hand, and she pulled it out.
The remote to her TV sat in her palm, and she stared at it in confusion. Why had she brought that with? It was important; she knew it was important, but she didn't know why. There was a large red button on the bottom, and she ran her thumb along it. Red was important. Maybe if she pressed it, she'd know why she'd brought it…
"Ma'am." Ellie spoke up, flinching as something beeped. "You were paying."
The beep changed and Ellie twitched, like she'd been bit by a fly. Maybe Edith should buy some bug spray for her… But first she should probably pay for the pile of medicine that was on the counter in front of her. She reached into her large purse, digging around for the wallet she knew had to be there. Her searching fingers found leather and she pulled the wallet out in triumph before carefully counting the cash out.
Ellie was nice enough to carry the bags for her, and Edith hooked their arms together, chatting away as they left the store. "You must tell me everything you've been working on. What have you been painting recently?"
"I'm afraid I haven't painted for a while, ma'am."
Edith frowned as she thought about her daughter. She knew painting was Ellie's passion. The low sun hit her eyes as they went outside and she blinked hard to adjust to it. She looked over again and wrenched her arm away. "Sally! How dare you touch me!"
Her slave ducked her head at the correction, and Edith sniffed in disdain. She'd known slaves were simple-minded but that was a basic rule: masters touched their slaves, not the other way around.
A bus pulled in front of her and a friendly man stepped out and held out his hand. Edith took it and let him help her onto the bus, leaving her slave to follow, quietly carrying the bags and staying out of the way.
Edith chatted through the ride, talking about the last time her daughter had been in town and how much fun they'd had. The scenery outside changed, from hospital buildings to fences and fields of vines. The bus stopped at a red light, and Edith glanced out the window, taking in one of the slaves working in the vineyard.
The slave glanced up at the same moment, accidentally meeting her eyes before quickly looking down again. The light turned green, and the bus pulled away as the slave continued to do his job. His hands worked steadily down the vine, the pruning shears snipping as leaves fell to the ground. Sweat dripped down his bare back, only deviating in its path as it hit the raised scar lines that told of times when his work hadn't been good enough. The sounds of rustling plants nearby was the only hint of the other silent workers in the warm sea of leaves.
The slave had been sold several times over his lifetime, and the vineyard was likely to be his final spot. The days were long, the tasks were never ending, and no one would be interested in buying him when he was no longer strong enough to work. A loud whistle suddenly cut through the air, making his body jump even though his hands didn't move an inch.
He finished his last cut and bent down to gather his other tools. Several hand signals flashed through the gaps in the plants as he made his way to the end of the vine row. He sent one quickly back, reporting no trouble on his side of the field. He reached the gravel path that ran between the crops and knelt in his spot, turning so the numbered tattoo on his arm was visible. His eyes stayed averted from the overseer who was walking down the line and making sure all of the tools were accounted for.
"Alright, you know the drill," the overseer yelled over the slaves' heads. "Move out!"
The overseer watched the slave in front of him pick up its tools and stand up. He made sure it started walking before he turned to continue his inspection down the line. He knew they hadn't bought any new blood for a while, so all of the slaves should know what to do. Still, it was better to be ready, just in case. He fingered the whip hanging from his hip, making sure it was clearly visible.
The threat did its job as the slaves closest to him ducked their heads and sped up to reach the barns faster. They couldn't exactly get too far while staying in their line, but it was amusing watching them try. Hank eyed the ground as the last slave passed him, making sure no tools had been left behind before walking back down the line towards the tool shed.
The older slaves working in the shed were doing their jobs efficiently, taking the tools and sorting them into piles to be cleaned or put away. Hank thanked the Lord above that he didn't have that overseer shift; getting home at seven was plenty late enough. He gave a nod to the poor soul who did have that job and tried to remember her name. Jamie? Janine? Something like that.
It didn't really matter; women overseers didn't tend to stick around long.
The slaves continued on, lining up next to their barn. He did one last headcount before opening the door and ordering, "Get in."
It was always eerie, how the crowd of slaves could move without making a sound. It was a stark reminder: they might look the same as him, but they definitely weren't people.
The last slave stepped inside, and Hank locked the door behind it. He set the light timer for an hour, giving the slaves enough time to take care of things, and he pulled the lever connecting the vats of slop to the barn. He watched the meter rise as he counted under his breath, and stopped once the trough was full. It had taken five seconds longer than it should have. He'd have to get someone up there next week to check the system.
Still, that was a problem for another day; it was time to go home. He turned to leave before a silver handle caught his attention. He rolled his eyes at himself and turned it to the on-position, so the slaves would have water. It was a good thing it was Friday; he really needed a break if he was making rookie mistakes like that.
"Hey, Hank! You're not heading out already, are you?"
Hank groaned and stopped. He just wanted to clock out and be done… A younger overseer jogged over to him, his hair flopping into his eyes before he flicked it back in its place. "Hey! Didn't you hear the news? We got a runner from group four today."
Typical. It was funny just how often a slave tried to run from group four on a Friday. Luckily, it being Friday gave him a ready excuse to leave without losing face. "Whelp, that sucks for it. Sorry, Max, but I'm heading out. If I'm fast enough, I can get home before the game starts."
"Man, you always say that," Max whined as he rolled his eyes. "Some of the other guys are starting to think you must be a prude or something."
"Nope. Just a basketball fan." Hank crossed his arms, mentally counting down the minutes he was wasting with this asinine conversation. "Just make sure the boys remember that the slave has to be able to walk in a couple of days."
"Yeah, yeah. 'Make an example of them, not a corpse of them.'" Max stuck his tongue out. "You'd be able to make sure of it if you stayed. One of the guys would probably give you a ride home so you didn't have to walk."
"Hey, did I hear you right?" the woman overseer called out as she approached them. Hank glanced behind her, making sure the slaves under her charge were still working. She waited a second before asking again, "Did I hear you right? You said you had a runner?"
"Yeah, you heard right," Max said with a sneer that didn't belong on a face that young. "Don't worry, we'll keep it away from you. We'd hate to offend your womanly sensitivities or something."
The woman's hand dropped to her whip as she narrowed her eyes. "Who says I'd be offended? I'm more offended by you trying to keep me out."
"What. You want to join in?" Max snickered. "You wouldn't last five minutes before bursting into tears."
"I will whip your ass all the way to the ocean," the woman threatened as she flicked her whip out of its holder. "Let me decide what I can or can't handle."
Hank eyed up the parking lot with longing. He didn't want to be part of this cock fight; he just wanted to go home and get some dinner.
"Fine, if you really want to play tough girl, swing by after your shift. We'll make sure to save a piece of it for you."
"I want more than a piece." The woman glared with a sneer of her own.
Looked like he needed learn her name after all.
"Alright," Max agreed with a challenging tone. "Come over by the stocks once you're done."
She sniffed and stalked back to the shed, coiling her whip back up as she yelled at the slaves to move faster. Hank pointed towards the parking lot. "Sounds like you've got a fun evening planned. I'll see you on Monday."
"You're missing out on a good time. See ya." Max waved as he turned towards the main buildings.
Hank sighed in relief once he was gone. Why was it so hard for some people to understand he didn't want to stay at work unless he was being paid for it? He rolled his shoulders and started his trek home.
One of the perks to living in Southern California was that the weather was almost always nice enough to walk around. It made life cheaper, and it kept him in shape. The only downside was how much later it pushed dinner. Hank started to fantasize over what he'd cook once he reached his apartment. It would probably be one of the TV dinners so he could watch the game, but the thought of steak and potatoes made his mouth water.
He knew bringing his work home was a bad idea, but a slave would be nice for cooking and cleaning... Hank checked his watch and walked faster, noticing a dark-skinned teenager and his slave walking down the sidewalk towards him. He smirked when he saw the slave shy away at the sight of his whip, and he puffed his chest out with an air of self-importance. He met the teenager's eyes and jerked his chin forward in a knowing manner.
The overseer walked past them, and the teenager rolled his eyes at the obvious display. "Man, some people are really full of themselves, aren't they?"
"Yes, sir," his slave answered quietly.
His tight voice made the teenager frown, and he looked back in concern. "Shawn, you ok?"
Shawn shook his head quickly and sped up to close the distance between them. "Yeah, sorry."
"It's alright," Gus said, thinking about how Shawn had gone nearly the entire walk without having to fight his slave-mode. They were making progress. Until assholes decided to exist around them.
A quiet vineyard stretched ahead of them, and Gus studied it to give Shawn time to calm down. It was probably where the asshole overseer had come from. He got to go home, but what about the slaves that worked there during the day? They didn't have a home to go to. Where did they go?
A different question itched at him and he tried to push it back. It wasn't important, not really…
"You know," Shawn said quietly. "If you stare at the grapes long enough, they might stare back."
Gus looked over in surprise at the joke and Shawn flinched before catching himself with a wry smile. "You were looking at the fields like they were all sisters with green eyes…"
"I was, wasn't I," Gus realized. He debated for another second, but Shawn had told him it was ok to be himself. "So, I had another question about what we talked about yesterday."
"Which one, the argument about dinosaurs or the one about Knight Rider?"
"The slave conversation," Gus clarified with a wince.
Shawn nodded like he'd expected that answer. He probably had. "Alright. What's the question?"
Gus was letting his curiosity get away from him, he probably shouldn't ask, he should backtrack and start complaining again about the stupid idea of dinosaurs having feathers… "What do slaves think about each other?"
"I don't understand the question."
Gus tried to find better words as they walked past the deserted vineyard. "Like, there's different kinds of slaves, right? You said you were sold as a house slave. Do slaves that work in the fields think differently of slaves that work in houses?"
"I dunno, I haven't really had a chance to ask them," Shawn answered with an edge to his voice. Gus winced; he'd known this was a bad idea. Shawn snorted and continued. "Slaves can't talk without permission. We can't exactly gossip together…"
"Shit. I didn't think of that." Gus shook his head at their messed up world. "That sucks."
"It's what the masters want." Shawn's blank face didn't betray any of his feelings on the matter. "A slave is grateful for what it's given."
Gus sighed; he really hated the man who had taught Shawn all of those phrases. "Well, this master doesn't want it. And it shouldn't be the norm; that's messed up."
Shawn studied him, and Gus wondered what he saw. It was a question he wasn't brave enough to ask. Shawn apparently found his answer as he tentatively held out his fist. "Sometimes life doesn't always suck."
Gus smiled, remembering how the Shawn he'd bought wouldn't have ever dared to raise his hand like that. He returned the fist bump as he answered, "I'm glad to hear that."
The sun slipped under the horizon as the teenage master and his slave made their way home.
A/N: I've been wanting to try to write a traveling-POV for a while. I hope the flow worked, thank you for indulging me with this experiment. This whole chapter happened because I watched a live birth of a calf at a dairy farm, and afterwards I heard someone casually ask, "So, want to get ice cream next?"
CW information: The chapter opens on students watching a slave give birth on display, skip to the line that starts with "Naaaaah, sabimbaa" if you don't want to deal with it. The next section with Gale has the separation, skip down to the mopping slave. After the mopping slave is a woman, Edith, with dementia; nothing is explicitly stated, just a bunch of confusion and forgetfulness. The POV ends when they get on the bus. During the overseer's POV, there's a conversation with heavy implications of semi-regular noncon. If you want to be safe and skip it, jump down at the paragraph that starts with "Typical" and pick it back up at "Hank sighed in relief".