contains: child living weapon, canine living weapon, panic attack, bathing/washing, a muzzle, conditioning/deconditioning, vomit mention, parental captain, and all the soft I could fit
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The Weaâ Shale sits on the floor in front of the Quartermaster. Tips its head.
âItâs just a harness. I just need to make sure it fitsâit shouldnât hurt,â she telepaths at it. âPut your head here, please. Good, thank you. Mid-arms through hereâŚ. Yes. Good.â
Mana adjusts the straps around it instead of arms. Over its shoulders and around its stomach. The material is soft, padded. Not heavy: itâs a comforting weight, like the calm-blanket Captain Edgar gave it.
âKid, run down the hall until you reach storage, then walk back,â he says.
The run is slower than itâs used to, but the harness stays on, and itâs a forgettable weight. The storage room is big, but the distance to it isnât much. Itâs back pretty quickly.
âStatus report.â
âIâThe Weaââ it flicks its tail, irritated. âThe weight of the harness reduces itsâmy speed, though not significantly. The arm slots have ample room, and the storage will likely make me more effective. I do not have any complaints about the material,â it reports.
Does not stare at Captain Edgar and listen to Quartermasterâs surface-thoughts to get a sense for how heâs feeling.
I do not have any complaints. The words, its words, imply it might complain about other things. Hint at the WeaponâsâŚ.
The words are tainted with insubordination and rebellion. It cannot revoke the words.
It cannot unspeak them.
âThatâs good, Shale. If that changes, Iâd like you to mention it.â
âKid, stand down.â Edgar lunges for itâ âWeapon, stand down.â
He grabs the handle on its harness with a mud-slick hand, dropping to hold Shale properly. Pries its mouth open with some effort.
Trackerâs tail is bleeding. The venomous barb wasnât punctured, and the Weapon restrained it so she couldnât sting it.
âAre you okay?â
âThe WeaâThe Weapon did not intend toâ Itâitââ it ducks its head, eyes clamped shut, taking choking, gasping breaths that consume its body.
Trembles, little scales fading in and out of existence, and he can barely pick out the wordsâ âdisobedientâwill not happen againâitâs sorryâwill make sure to complyâsorryââ
He leans on its side, breathing deeply and audibly. âBreathe. Breathe, kid. Itâs just a bite. Youâll be okay. Tracker will be okay.
âTracker will be okay, and weâll learn why this happened so we can work on fixing it. Not yet, but once youâre calm.â
Eventually, eventually, its breathing settles. It still trembles, watching him, but he gives it a peanut butter bite, and it seems to understand he wonât punish it, even if the fear is still there.
âDo you want to lay down for a bit, or wash the mud off?â
âThe bath, sir.â
It stiffens before leaning into his touch. Presses the top of its soapy head into his chest while he rubs shampoo into the fur on its neck. Buzzes, softly.
Dr Gabriel canât touch its neck without it closing its eyes and tensing, but Shale lets out the tiniest whine when his hands move down to its shoulders.
By the time itâs ready to be rinsed and dried, itâs less on edge. Doesnât flinch when he trips over the ramp and curses himself for putting it there.
Shale eyes the small metal cage in the Captainâs hands from its place on his bed. âWhat is it, sir?â
âA muzzle. You said running reminds you of chasing people down, right? That itâs hard to tell the difference?â
It does. It hasnât run in weeks, and suggested a tether in case it sees someone else run.
âItâs soft, on the inside, and itâs got four little screws you can put in to suppress your magic, in case you get overwhelmed or triggered by peopleâs thoughts. They go in this pocket on your harness, but Iâll carry spares just in case.â
He puts it on.
âThank you, sir.â
âNow take it off,â he says.
It reaches up, with shaking hands, and undoes the buckle. Hesitates. Does not get hit. Does not get shocked. Does not get whipped.
Hesitates, looking at Captain Edgar.
Slowly, carefully, it removes the muzzle. Gives it back to the Captain. Gets a reward.
Gets a reward.
âSir, why is the muzzle removable?â
âI want you to think before biting,â he says, fluffing the fur on its chin. âI want you to use it as a tool to remember biting is not your first option, and I want you to be able to remove it if you rethink it and decide biting is the right choice.â
It places its head onto his lap. âThe Weapon may not be able toââ
âWeâll work on it. Good job, kid.â
It does not buzz loudly at that. It is perfectly dignified and professional and the vents make weird noises sometimes.
He brings it to the cafeteria, and gives it a big bowl with peanut butter on top. And a turkey neck. And is something it has to work on, rather than choking down the whole thing at once.
Which is good, because it likes tasting things. Its fur is shinier, itâs gained some weight, and itâsâŚ.
It hasnât jumped up to the Captainâs bed without permission, but it could. He wouldnât hurt it, and there arenât any thoughts in his head: he means what he says.
In the beginning, he said it could sleep on his bed.
They go out to the hall. He puts its muzzle on. âGo run five laps between here, the garden, and the gym.â
âThe Weapon can run sixty-five, sir.â It would vomit on the final lap and collapse from exhaustion, but it could. It has run that much before.
âTen,â he says firmly. âIf you remove your muzzle, stop. If you get tired, stop. If you get thirsty, thereâs a water bottleââ
âIn my harness, sir. I am aware, you showed me. It even has a straw!â
âYeah, kid. You can stick it through, if you want, but Iâd prefer if you stop to drink.â
The muzzle isâŚ. The ability to remove it makes it less effective, but it doesnât tell him that. Just runs, snapping at people who seem to be running away, but the muzzle doesnât let it do anything more.
By the fourth lap, itâs aware of the urge to bite, and by the fifth, manages to stop itself from snapping at two different people.
Shale crashes into its Captain, and presses its head into his leg. âNo causalties.â it reports, shoving the straw in its mouth and taking a long sip. âThirty-one attempts. The muzzle is functional, sir.â
âGood job, kid. I love you,â he says. It would do anything to hear that. Ten laps is nothing, fifty laps is nothing, seventy laps is nothing, compared to the way his voice goes soft and special and just for it.
âThank you, Captain.â
They play tug-war to help it feel successful. Like it caught something, the Captain says, but it doesnât really care about the reason.
It gets to play tug-war.
It gets to win tug-war, and get told itâs strong and crafty and good.
Play makes it buzz. Play makes it buzz loudly, bobbing its head in anticipation.
The Captain could ask it to do anything, to push itself past its limits until itâs sick and wheezing and pathetic, and it would do it for play and affirmations and gentle hands. It tells him.
âI know, kid. Iâm sorry.â
It brushes against his leg. âI love you too, sir.â
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The muzzle is comfortable. Itâs removable, and Caretaker is working on making sure Weapon can remove it without distress. Without it panicking about disobedience.
Itâs a barrier. A way for it to think before striking, a way to check if it really means to attack.
âCan I play tag, sir?â it asks, already wearing its muzzle.
âPermission granted, kid. Just keep it on, and report any attempts to me.â
When the game is over, it runs into their arms. âThree, sir. Only three! And zero casualties!!â
âGood job, kid.â
Weaponâs muzzle is freedom. Itâs a way for it to run and chase and play without hurting anyone. Itâs a way for it to learn it doesnât have to.