Good for Nothing
The first thing Caretaker thinks when they wake to the acrid smell of smoke is the worst. How could they not think the worst? Living Weapon(LW) certainly had people who wanted them dead very badly. They don’t waste time, throwing themselves out of bed, and following the smell of smoke to the kitchen, expecting something awful. Instead they see LW, standing in front of a lump of what was once food, now so burnt that Caretaker can’t even begin to wonder what it started as.
“LW?” They ask, taking a slow step forward.
LW shoots a panicked look over their shoulder, before shifting, as if they could possibly hide the plumes of black smoke billowing off the stove.
“Everything’s fine. I can fix it.” They insist, as their hands flutter nervously around the pan. Caretaker is already hurrying forward even before LW grabs the handle of the skillet. Even from a few feet away, Caretaker can hear the sizzle of skin. They pick up the pace when LW doesn’t immediately release the pan, instead moving to lift it off the stove, hissing through their teeth as they do so.
“LW, don’t!” They hardly think as they grab LW by the wrist and tear their hand away from the pan. In hindsight they were lucky they didn’t lose a finger pulling a stunt like that, especially with all the adrenaline that is surely pumping through LW’s system. As it is, LW lets themselves be pushed away, stumbling back. Caretaker shuts off the heat, making sure to grab a dish towel before moving the still smoking skillet beneath an open window, doing their best to wave some of the smoke away.
Caretaker turns at the small voice, so quiet they can hardly hear it, and sees LW staring forward. Not meeting their eyes in the way they do when they think a punishment is coming. Caretaker sets the towel aside, shifting their focus to the more important issue.
“It’s fine. It was an accident, ok? I’m not going to punish you over it.” They assure gently.
LW doesn’t even seem to hear them, giving no response other than a slight shake of their head. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t make food.”
Caretakes glances at the pile of char, still smoking, and back to LW, brow furrowing in confusion. “It’s…it’s alright. You didn’t have to.”
“But I’m not supposed to fight anymore. You said so” LW protests, an almost desperate note playing at the edge of their voice. Caretaker frowns.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
LW turns away wrinkling their nose. “I can’t be useless.” They say matter-of-factly, as though it should’ve been obvious. “Captain always said so. I’m only kept around because I could fight for him. I’m not allowed to live if I can’t fight, and I can’t fight. I have to find something else, then. I can’t be good for nothing. I haven’t earned my keep here. I have to do something...”
Caretaker tries to see it. Tries to see the way anyone could’ve have done such things. Said such things to this kid. They see a child, forced to buy their life with blood. Then thrown out like garbage and left for dead. Their Captain had all but raised them, and taught them no other skills but war, and tied up all their use in that. It made them sick to think about. Caretaker takes stock of LW. They aren’t much older than that child now. Their expression is guarded, Arms down by their sides, one fist clenched tight, the other loose, held awkwardly a few inches away from their body.
“You burned yourself.” Caretaker recalls, cursing themselves for nearly forgetting.
LWs eyes meet theirs for a second, then drop to their hand, before darting away. “No.”
Caretaker raises an eyebrow at the clear lie, and takes a step forward. “Yes you did. Let me see.”
But LW steps back at the approach, dropping into a more defensive posture easily as breathing, expression twisting into a soldier's resolve. Caretaker freezes. They don’t want to be intimidated by this kid, but it’s no question LW could kill them. If they panicked for just a moment, that would be all it took. And at this point kill or be killed must be so deeply ingrained into them. In spite of themself, Caretaker takes a half step back.
Immediate LW’s face changes, brow furrowing in confusion before going slack with horror. They go ramrod straight, every muscle tensed for a blow that Caretaker would rather die than deliver.
“I…I'm sorry, captain.” Caretaker can’t help but suck in a pained breath at the title, even as LW continues rambling. “Please forgive me. I wasn’t…I didn't mean…I’m-“
“It’s alright.” Caretaker holds up their hands, hoping to appear as nonthreatening as possible. “I promise it’s alright. I’m sorry for startling you. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” They slowly extend one hand in the same way one might reach out to a feral cat “Please, may I take a look?”
LW hesitates for a long second before holding out their hand. Caretaker bites back a sigh of relief that there won’t be a fight about this as they gingerly take LW’s wrist to examine the injury. It’s bad. The palm is red, and blistering in some places where they’d tried to grab the pan.
“You need some cold water on this. May I?” They wait for LW to give a small nod before slowly leading them to the sink. LW doesn’t react at all as the cool water hits their blistering skin.
“Stay right here. I’m gonna get some cream for this.” They take a cautious step back, making sure they’ll stay. When they show no sign of moving, Caretaker turns, moving as quick as they can without running to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.
When they return. LW is right where they left them, staring listlessly as the water flows around their fingers into the sink. They continue being silent and unresponsive as Caretaker turns of the sink, and pulls them to the couch. They don’t react as Caretaker gently dabs some cream on their injury and bandages it. When they’re done, the injured hand drops into their lap. Caretaker frowns.
“LW?” They ask tentatively. No response.
The kid does, although something in their expression still gives Caretaker the impression LW is looking through them. They do their best to maintain eye contact anyway.
“If you want to learn to cook, or some other skill, you’re more than welcome to do so. I’d be happy to teach you. But believe me when I tell you, you don’t have to buy your worth here. If you never cook a dish in your life you’ll still have a place here. I’ll never think you’re good for nothing. You have my word.”
LW takes a long time to respond, just turning their newly bandaged hand this way and that. Caretaker doesn’t miss the way their gaze drops for a moment to the other scars on their arm. Scars too precise to have been anything but intentional. Punishments, they knew. From their captain.
“Ok.” LW mutters. They don’t sound convinced. Caretaker waits to see if they’ll say more, but they stay stubbornly silent.
“Do you want me to help you with whatever you were trying to cook?” Caretaker prompts softly. LW is already shaking their head before they’re even done talking.
“No. I’m not hungry. May I retire to my room, cap-” LW doesn’t cut themselves off in time to stop them both from flinching. The kid turns their eyes to the floor. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. And yes, you can go where you like. I’ll make you something later.”
The kid probably barely hears that last part, all but fleeing from the room the moment leave was granted. Caretaker stares at the direction they’d gone for a long time before standing and going to tend to the mess in the kitchen.
