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There were a lot of things about being a servant that Nagito hadn’t really considered before it happened. The stiff metal collar wore sores on his neck. And having five masters meant it was hard to get any sleep. But, most importantly, he hadn’t expected how often he’d be called upon to comfort someone.
“You deserved better,” was one of the things he said most often these days and one of the things least likely to get someone to threaten to sew or glue his mouth closed.
The Warrior of Hope were hurt children. That had been obvious from the start. And he knew and identified with that feeling before he knew the specifics.
It was Kotoko who he’d come to understand first.
The gregarious little girl had gotten a little too into a moment of roughhousing with Masaru and fallen down on some rough gravel. Her hands were scraped and little bits of dirt and rock remained in the cuts.
To reassure her that care would be taken while he administered appropriate first aid and cleaned the cuts, Nagito had said the rather unfortunate phrase, “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
Kotoko had screamed.
Through a several minute meltdown of screaming, crying, punching, and kicking, Nagito had finally understood what the upsetting thing was. Disgusting men with little regard for consent had euphamized their actions that way. He stayed silent during the beating she gave him, then offered a reassuring smile.
“You deserved better. I’d never do anything like that to you. Worthless trash like me should never think of touching you, and nobody ever should when it’s not something you want. I meant to tell you that I’d be careful not to hurt you while I bandage your hands, but, of course, lowly scum like me would upset you. I promise, I’ll never say that word to you again.”
She’d allowed him to finish treating her scrapes and asked him to say it again. “I deserved better? What adults did to me was wrong?”
Nagito was happy to oblige, “You deserved better. So much better. People who would do that to you are worse trash than me.”
The next time this came up was with Masaru. Nagito was in the kitchen, attempting to make the children pancakes, as requested. The boisterous boy bounced into the room to ask for chocolate chips in his, but the kitchen was a bit smokey, as Nagito had burned the first batch.
His coughing sent Masaru into a panic attack.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I can’t help it! Please! I’m sorry,” he wailed in terror.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Nagito attempted to soothe him, coming toward the boy, “You don’t need to be afraid. It’s okay.”
“I’m not afraid!” despite his words, he was screaming, but he launched himself at Nagito as if he could punch the suggestion directly.
“I’m not afraid anymore! I! Don’t! Need! To! Be! Afraid!” Masaru shouted, punctuating each word with a blow. “I! Never! Have! To! Be! Afraid!”
Nagito tightened his stomach so he wouldn’t knock his breath away while he hit him and let himself fall against the kitchen counter; he wanted Masaru to see that he was powerful. Masaru cried heavily, tears, snot, and spit streaming down his face. Once he finished the angry portion of his outburst, he collapsed against Nagito, falling heavily against his freshly rising bruises.
“You’re right,” Nagito affirmed, voice slightly more breathless than usual, “You’re strong. You can protect yourself. And all the other kids. You aren’t afraid.” It wasn’t strictly true, but it was what he needed to hear, “You shouldn’t need to be so strong though. You deserve better. Even worthless trash like me would never hurt you like that.”
Masaru cried himself out, laying against Nagito’s shoulder with his hand grasping the metal chain that reminded him that he was in control, at least in this relationship.
Jataro’s focus was a little bit different. He’d gotten Nagito out of bed to come clean the bathroom after he’d had an accident.
“I bet you really hate me now, don’t you?” he worried his sleeves, hovering behind Nagito as he knelt on the tile and scrubbed it with bleach. “I made you wake up and clean something so disgusting.”
“Hate you?” Nagito offered a cool smile, focusing on getting the bristles of the scrub brush into the slight indent between tiles, “Of course not. It wouldn’t do for a lowly servant to hate his master.”
“You don’t hate me??” Jataro’s voice filled with anxiety, “It’s okay! I’m used to being hated! It’s better if I’m hated… Then I can do whatever I want. It doesn’t make it worse.”
Nagito kept quiet while he considered his answer. He could understand aspects of Jataro’s feelings, but he wasn’t sure how to address them. He’d be soothed if he agreed that he hated him, but it wasn’t true and he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t contribute to his long term emotional issues.
“I can make you hate me,” Jataro found Nagito’s silence agitating. They were being so mean to him, how could he not hate all of them? But even without that, he should hate him. Everyone did.
Jataro’s gaze found the small basin of diluted bleach that Nagito was dipping the scrub brush into. He slipped his hand down out of his sleeve and picked it up.
“What are y-?” Nagito’s speech halted as the bleach water splashed over his face, and most alarmingly, into his eyes.
“You hate me now, right?!” Jataro demanded, stepping back as Nagito scrambled to his feet and rushed to the sink to run water over his face.
“Please wait!” Nagito’s voice was higher in it’s urgency. He shoved his face under the faucet and began rinsing out his eyes. First priority was making sure this didn’t blind him. Then he’d deal with Jataro.
Jataro did as he was asked, rocking back on his heels and fidgeting with his sleeves. Nagito flushed his eyes until they stopped burning, then some after for good measure. His focused attention meant that the bleach had slightly burned his cheeks by the time he got to rinsing them, but he wasn’t especially concerned with his skin. It would heal.
“Alright, now, what?” he eventually turned back to the younger boy, dabbing his face dry with his sleeve. His characteristic submissive tone was a bit absent in his effort to be efficient, but Jataro wasn’t bothered.
“You hate me now, right? You have to hate me. I don’t want to care what you think,” Jataro repeated himself, starting to ramble, “Hatred makes me free. I should be hated. I’ve always been hated. Ever since the day I was born, I was hated. You’ll hate me. You’ll look at me like you hate me too. Everyone does.”
Nagito knelt in front of him, “Jataro, I think you misunderstand my position.”
“What do you mean?” he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“I’m but a lowly servant. You don’t have to care what I think or want, no matter what. It’s not for me to judge you. You can do anything you want, including to me, whether I hate you or not. Hating you would be inappropriate for me,” Nagito explained carefully, “I serve you. Happily.”
Jataro nodded slowly, deciding that made enough sense to accept. He slipped his hand out from his sleeve and pushed a finger into one of the rising burns on Nagito’s face.
“Ow,” Nagito smiled blissfully at him, “That really hurts.”
“I did it,” Jataro laughed, “And you don’t even hate me! You shouldn’t hate me!”
“Nope, you deserve better. At least from me.”
Nagisa required the most initiative from Nagito to reach an understanding. Nagito, not trusting his own cooking skills, gathered a couple of ready-to-eat, packaged meals, and went to Nagisa’s room. He hadn’t seen the boy at any meal that day and was a bit concerned.
Nagisa was typing on a laptop, trying to sort out some organizational aspects of the paradise they were working on. It was a relatively difficult task and he’d been working nonstop all day. He’d almost wished for some of the “HP restoring” drugs his father used to give him. It would be worth it would help him not let Monaca down.
“Nagisa, I thought I might find you awake,” Nagito smiled, carrying the stack of food over to his desk. “The others are asleep, you know?”
“I have work to do,” Nagisa kept his eyes trained on the screen, typing away, “What are you doing coming in my room without permission?”
“I’m sorry,” Nagito chuckled, “Worthless trash like me shouldn’t intrude… But I am only a servant. It’s my duty to look after the health of my masters.” He plucked the laptop from under Nagisa’s hands with his functional one, using the mitten clad one to steady it. Breaking his property certainly wouldn’t help the situation.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Nagisa snapped, “Give that back!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t yet. It’s distracting you and not letting you eat. I have to protect you, you know? What kind of paradise would it be if children were working themselves to death?” Nagito held the laptop up out of reach.
“You’re lucky we let you live, servant. And I can kill you here and now, if I want to. I have work to do! Give me that back!” Nagisa rose from his chair and tried to reach the computer above his head.
“I think you’re still just listening to the Demon’s lies,” Nagito sighed, “They convinced you that children should work. They didn’t let you play or take care of yourself. I can see why we need to rid the city of them so everyone can be safe.”
“Shut up!” Nagisa drove his fist into Nagito’s stomach, though whether he wanted him to lower his arms so he could reach the computer or simply stop talking was unclear. The result was neither.
“You deserved better,” Nagito’s smile turned apologetic, “But please, allow me, your humble servant to help take care of you. Please eat. I will monitor what’s going on on the computer and assist where necessary. You can rest a while after you eat, if you want to, but I will give the computer back then, if you prefer.”
Nagisa stole a glance at the stacked food on his desk. It did look good. And he was hungry. Their servant had proven himself to be competent in most aspects. Perhaps he could take a look at the problem. And he’d only be busy for a couple of minutes. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. While my background is nothing compared to my friend’s, it may have affected my judgement. Thank you.”
Nagito nodded, sitting down on the floor to look at the laptop, “Trauma isn’t a competition. The Demons have hurt everyone.” He remembered his own life, and it wasn’t an adult who was responsible for his current situation, but there were plenty of instances he could point to that were attributable to them that hurt him deeply.
Nagisa ripped open the top package and began eating, rather ravenously. There was no need to maintain a dignified manner in front of a slave. “Tab over to the objectives page and try to figure out how to make the current situation match that,” he gestured to the laptop, “If you can work it out, maybe I could take a few more breaks. I’ll do anything to complete our paradise, no matter what it means for me. But it would be nice if I didn’t have to.”
Nagito nodded, turning his mind fully to the task at hand. Nagisa trusting him to do the work would probably mean the boy didn’t push himself quite so hard. And that was a good result.
Monaca, as expected, had slightly more complicated feelings.
“Monaca! Always! Gets! What! She! Wants!” she pounded her fists in the air, after dumping the plate of food that Nagito had brought to her in the floor.
“I’m so sorry. Leave it to me, a worthless servant, to mess up your request,” Nagito bowed, then knelt to begin scooping the rice back onto the broken plate.
“Lick! It! Up!” Monaca glanced quickly around, ensuring that she was alone with Nagito, and kicked him in the face.
“Ah, so your legs do work,” Nagito smiled, rubbing his cheek, “I thought so. Clever idea to pretend they don’t. Everyone wants to make you happy. You’re a lot like her, aren’t you?”
“Well, you need to make Monaca happy right now! Lick up the rice and glass shards!” she kicked up against his jaw again.
Nagito shrugged and bent down to the floor to do so. The rice was sort of mushy and the little pieces got lost in his mouth. He crunched down on a piece of broken glass and felt it shatter against his teeth. This seemed like a very bad idea for his general health, but his luck would probably not let him die of it, at least.
Monaca giggled happily, delighted at her power in this situation. “You’re right, you know? Ever since then, everyone but them has loved Monaca. Poor, sweet, helpless Monaca. Everyone wants to make her happy. Meow! Back then, everyone wanted Monaca to go away! She wasn’t wanted at all! Nobody would even talk to Monaca! But where are they now? Dead or hiding like rats underground and sweet, sweet Monaca has all the friends!”
Drips of blood oozed over Nagito’s lips from his tongue and gave his smile a macabre appearance, “You deserved better, you know. Nobody should ever have hurt Monaca.”
Monaca tilted her head to the side, “I know you have your own game here. But if I were you, I’d hate me. Especially after this,” she gestured to his mouth, “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you deserve better?”
His smile widened and he shrugged, “What I deserve or don’t doesn’t change what you do. And you deserved better. None of you deserved to end up like this. And I don’t mind what you do to me. I’m just a lowly servant, after all. I wouldn’t think I deserved better than my masters saw fit to give me,” his mixed emotions appeared in the swirling of his eyes, “And you deserve to be able to do this. You all do. To have suffered so much despair. Maybe this can raise your hope. A fitting role for me, don’t you think?”
“Oh, shut up,” Monaca wheeled her chair forward and slapped Nagito’s face, interrupting his ramble, “Who cares about any of that? Just clean up and bring me a better dinner.”
Nagito nodded silently, scooping the mess onto the largest portion of plate, and rubbing at the small patches of blood on the floor with his sleeve. His thoughts felt mixed up, much like they often did when he considered the relationship of hope and despair and which he wanted. But, in the day to day, he was glad to be caring for these children. They deserved better than him, of course, but it would have to do for now.