Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
AN: So I decided to do 8's first moments as part of a game/contest/thing for the Forum Fiends. And I'm not sure how closely I adhered to it, and I know for a fact that my ending's weak, but that's okay. I kind of like how this turned out. You can think of it as 1/8 if you really want to, but I didn't write it with that in mind.
I'm not stupid.
I'm not.
Don't act like I am. Don't talk all slow when you use big words and think that I'll understand them better. I understand you just fine, even if I don't know the words you're using. The meaning's the same. I know what you want, and when you want it done, and I know what you're thinking of me when you say it. That I'm stupid. The big dumb oaf, too much muscle and not enough brain.
And you wonder why I don't like you.
All of you. Because you're all the same. Even the Scientist.
I remember his first word to me: "…oh." Like he was disappointed in me. Like he screwed up when he made me, so now he was just gonna move on and make the next one and hope it wasn't all messed up like I was.
I tried to look around, but I couldn't take it in. I couldn't focus. All I could think about was that "…oh." and the way he looked at me, and I wanted to hide and not exist anymore.
He picked me up—he had to use both hands, since I was too big for just one—and carried me to the door.
Like I was trash.
And I wanted to know, was he gonna drop me? Was he gonna throw me down and try to break me? Maybe I could jump out of his hands—there was a shelf over there, I knew I could make it if I just timed it right—but he turned too soon and took me to the door and down the stairs and just set me down outside.
He was breathing heavy. Like the few stairs had taken everything out of him, and for a moment I felt sorry for him. I felt sorry he'd had to carry me so far. I was sorry I'd been so heavy. I was sorry I'd been a burden to him, even though he didn't want me anymore.
No, I'm not stupid. Just pathetic sometimes.
"I'm afraid this is as far as I can take you," he said, and then looked at me. Just looked at me. Waiting for me to go. I guess he was trying to be nice—that he was gonna watch over me until I was out of sight. But I was alone, and I was scared, and he sure wasn't gonna be able to save me from whatever was out there. It looked like he could barely walk.
What else was I supposed to do? The world was in pieces.
I don't know how long I walked, or where. I just kept walking and walking and walking, dodging past the running soldiers and the walkers and the people who were screaming and dying. And I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I was scared.
That's when I met him.
He was with 2—they'd been running from hiding place to hiding place, and the bombs and the soldiers and the walkers kept breaking up their shelters and making them run somewhere else. They were exhausted, but 1 still had enough energy to call out to me.
"You there! This way!"
I was still scared, but at least it was a way to go. At least somebody knew what was going on. So I ran to his voice. 1 was looking around by the time I got to him, checking for danger. 2 tried to be friendly.
"Hello there, my boy," he said, and shook my hand like he'd known me his entire life. "My name's 2—this is 1—what's your name?"
How was I supposed to know? The Scientist hadn't called me anything. And if he had, I hadn't been listening. I just stared at 2. And then he got that look on his face.
Confused. Then disappointed. Like the Scientist.
"8," 1 called. He didn't try to introduce himself or me or anything. He saw the number and gave me my name, and the way he said it I knew he had to mean me. "Come over here." He was standing by a helmet—the kind some of the soldiers were wearing. Its old owner's body was a few strides away, but I didn't look at it for long. I was looking at 1. And he was looking at the helmet. "Can you lift this?"
No disappointment. No questions about what I knew or what I was. Just: could I do it or not? And better yet, he assumed I could. He didn't give up on me and move on, or assume I was stupid. He thought I could. And suddenly, there was nothing I wanted more than to lift up a dirty old helmet. I picked it up, liking the feel of its weight in my hands. I wasn't like the Scientist. I could carry things—heavy things—for ages and ages and not get tired. I was strong. And 1 smirked at me and nodded to himself, and I felt stronger and braver and better and brighter than I ever had in my short life.
It wasn't long before we found 7, but still I carried the helmet, our moving shelter. She was quick and clever, and 1 sent her out to scout. I wanted to know if I should go too—I wanted to be useful. I wanted to show that I could be quick and clever too—but 1 stopped me. He wanted me to protect him and 2.
7 he was willing to lose. He needed me.
He had 2 find me weapons—the biggest he could drag home—and gave them to me. He expected me to learn how to use them. So I did. I practiced and practiced and practiced until I knew them better than I knew myself, and I could slash and stab and throw and do everything I'd ever need to be able to do to protect him.
And all the while he kept me by his side, closer than anyone else, closer than 2 or 6. He knew I'd be there for him.
You think you're so smart, but you don't understand. You don't even know how to treat me like a person. You don't think I can do anything. 1 knows what I can do, and he doesn't get upset about stuff I can't do. Sometimes he gets impatient when I can't puzzle out the words he uses, but he's never disappointed in me. He never gives up on me.
And even now, when our home is burning down and his staff is gone and 2 is dead and everything is in ruins, he's still got me.
Because he's all I got.
Because he makes me strong.