#handler whumpee

Walking into the apartment, she exhales slowly and gives herself a moment to gather herself. She pulls the door closed and leans against it, closing her eyes. 

“Ok,” she whispers to herself. She taps each of her fingers against her thumb and tucks the photo into her pocket, then walks down the damp, mold smelling hallway. 

She stops in front of Handler’s door, wiping her feet on his painted coir welcome mat on the floor. 

She exhales sharply and raises her hand to knock on the door, calling out, “Maintenance!” She lowers her face and pulls her hood over her head, before knocking again, “Pipe burst in the apartment above you, need to make sure you’re not experiencing any leaks.” 

Handler grumbles, his boots stomping closer to the door, “Alright, alright. I’m comin’. Goddamnit, I just got home, couldn’t even open a drink before someone comes to fuckin’ bother me.” 

He slides the bolt, turns the lock, and unhooks the chain before opening the door. 

“I haven’t seen any fuckin’ leak,” He says, stepping aside. 

Living Weapon pushes her way the rest of the way into the apartment and closes the door behind her, “That’s good.” 

Handler looks up, blood draining from his face. He shakes his head, stumbles back, and trips over a stray shoe on the floor. 

Living Weapon smiles cruelly and re-locks the door. 

“It’s kinda funny,” she says, sliding the bolt closed again, “All these locks and you don’t check to see who’s at your door.” 

He shakes his head and pushes himself back until he hits the wall, “I killed you.” 

His voice is shaking, eyes locked on her like he’s seeing a ghost. 

Living Weapon pouts and takes a few steps forward. She nods, traces over the scar on her chest and her smile falls. “You took a stab at it.” She smiles again, faintly and chuckles softly, “Pun intended.” 

Handler squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head again, “No. You stopped breathing. I…I buried you.” 

“Like I said,” Living Weapon snaps, kneeling in front of him. She lifts his chin with the hilt of her dagger, “You certainly exerted yourself.” 

His chin trembles, “What are you going to do to me?” 

She tilts her head and smiles, baring her teeth. “Don’t speak.” 

He nods furiously, shutting his mouth. His breath comes in short bursts, fogging up the blade of the dagger. Tears start to form in his eyes and Living Weapon rolls her eyes. 

She falls back on her heels and lowers the dagger so it sits over his heart. It cuts through the fabric of his shirt and she pushes it into his skin. “Stop sniveling. It’s not a good color on you.” 

He takes a quick, forceful breath and nods. Snot falls out of his nose and he wipes it on his sleeve, “What can I do?” 

“I told you to shut up.” she snaps, pressing the dagger into his chest. 

She watches as blood seeps through his shirt, just enough to make a small dime-sized stain. She blinks and takes a measured breath. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, pulling the blade away from his chest. 

She stands up and puts the dagger back in its sheath. 

“What’s going on?” Handler asks, eyeing her warily. 

She glares at him, but doesn’t remind him he’s supposed to shut the fuck up. She turns away from him and walks into his kitchen. 

With feverish movements, she rifles through his drawers, tossing things onto the ground behind her. 

“I came here…” she says, opening a cabinet and knocking spice jars onto the counter, “To kill you.” 

Handler shakes his head and makes a small, pathetic sound. 

“But that would mean you were right about me.” She says, finally finding what she was looking for. She holds the lighter in her hand and clicks it until it lights. “And you weren’t. I’m not…” she trails off and shakes her head. “I’m not like you. I'm nothing like you. So I'm going to leave.” 

She pulls the picture out of her pocket and holds the corner up to the flame. It catches and she watches as the fire climbs up the edges of the picture, engulfing it in its hungry blaze. 

She drops the photo on the wooden floor and watches it burn, then stomps the ashes until the embers die. 

“You were wrong about me,” she says, voice breaking. 

Handler stares at the scorched wood under her foot and then up at her. There’s still so much fear in his eyes. She almost chuckles, pulls her phone out and holds it in her hands. 

“Smile,” She says, void of any emotion. The flash snaps and Handler flinches. Living Weapon looks at the screen and nods, then pockets her phone again. “Now I can remember how fucking terrified you are of me.” 

It slides the bolt over and cracks the door open. The flashing lights stop and Living Weapon steps out onto the porch. The concrete has been warmed by the sun and it relishes in the moment, closing its eyes for just a second. The car honks and Living Weapon springs to life. 

It slides into the passenger seat and stares at Caretaker’s house. Slowly, it relaxes into the seat and looks at Handler. The lines on his face are more defined, softening him almost. Living Weapon bites the inside of its cheek until it tastes blood. It inhales sharply and looks at Caretaker’s front door. 

“Glad you came out, I didn’t want to break in.” Handler says, tapping irritably on the steering wheel. 

Its breath hitches and it looks at its hands. Almost whispering, it asks, “How did you find me?” 

“Oh please,” Handler scoffs. “I never lost you.” 

Living Weapon nods solemnly and takes a shuddering inhale. “So what now?” 

Handler huffs and reverses out of the driveway. He stares at the road and sighs, “Now you’ve hopefully found out that everything I do is to help you. Not to hurt you. Now we go home and fix whatever Caretaker did to you.”

Living Weapon picks at its cuticles as Handler turns and twists and travels back to the cabin in the forest that he called home. 

Blood beads out of Living Weapon’s nail bed by the time Handler parks the truck. He jumps out of the truck and motions for it to do the same. 

Its feet sink into the mud and when it pulls its foot out of the mud, its sock stays. Living Weapon jumps to the small mat outside the door and wipes its feet, doing its best to get all the mud off of its feet before walking inside behind Handler.

He whistles and throws a bundle of clothes at it, “Put these on.” They fall onto Living Weapon’s feet and Handler seethes. 

“What happened to you?” 

Quickly, Living Weapon plucks the clothes off the ground and smears the mud around, working it into the fabric. “I’m tired, I wasn’t expecting it. Nothing’s happened.” 

Handler chucks his shoe at it, “I think you’re slow. I think Caretaker coddled the killer instinct in you and now you can’t keep yourself alive. You rely on her.” 

Living Weapon spits and hurls the shoe back at Handler. “You’re wrong!” it stomps up to Handler and hovers a hand over his chest. “She made me stronger than you ever could.” 

It takes a deep breath and lowers its hand to its side. Handler exhales shakily and blinks a few times, forcing a laugh. 

“Then why did you come back with me? If you’re so strong?” 

Living Weapon grins, its teeth showing, “To do this.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, it charges Handler and shoves him up against the kitchen wall, hands around his neck. Handler gasps, a hand flying up to his throat and he tries to claw Living Weapon’s hands off of him as the other gropes behind him, hopelessly searching for something to help. 

Living Weapon pulls him away from the wall and slams him back, his head making a sickening cracking sound at impact. Handler’s mouth makes a strangled sound and his head falls forward, nose brushing Living Weapon’s arm. 

Living Weapon lets him go, his body falling forward onto the kitchen floor. Blood spills onto the tile and Living Weapon watches it spread. The blood reaches its feet and Living Weapon steps in the puddle of it, letting it get sticky underneath it. Slowly, it reaches into Handler’s pocket and pulls the keys to his truck out. 

It peels its feet up from the ground and walks out of the cabin. This time, it avoids the mud and climbs into the driver’s seat.