Where the fuck did this come from? I don't know. I'm in the middle of trying to decipher complex polynomial radical bifunctional notoriantionmfkdl;asntieowh[ata's and all of a sudden: BAM!

Wtf.

Anyways. Unless I missed some besides that one by futureauthor13, I haven't really found any other Minion-centric fics. I mean… he's in them. But all the fics are from Mega's POV, or Roxanne's, or MM+RR centric.

So I was wondering: Minion is a fish. Who relies on a robot suit to take care of his master. And then I remembered that line from Freaky Friday when she has to go in and take care of her mom's patients and just says: "And… How do you… feel about that?"

Anyway, enough rambling. Onto the poorly written fic!

Sometimes, like now, he feels useless. Sometimes, like now, as he watches from the confines of the Tupperware in Miss Ritchie's arms as some men cart his master off on a stretcher, he thinks he is the worst type of minion. Sometimes, like now, as he watches his master cringe in pain from his broken ribs, he wishes his master had a more useful minion.

One with legs. And arms.

One that didn't have to live in a glass bowl, or be mounted on a specially made robotic gorilla body to be more than a loyal Yesman.

"Don't worry sir!" He calls, bobbing at the top of the Tupperware as Miss Ritchie rushes off in the opposite direction to the invisible car. "We'll be right there sir! Right behind you!"

But his master just cringes again and sends the space fish a slightly frantic look as the ambulance doors slam shut, the sirens begin to wail, and the brightly flashing vehicle tears off down the street.

It's not the first time he's felt useless.

But it's times like these, when he's utterly helpless, swimming idly by as his master experiences rare instances of real fear, that he really feels that frustration and uselessness.

Like cowering in his glass bowl as those terrible children throw him back and forth, his master jumping between them and frantically yelling at them to be careful, until he snaps and shoves one of them to the ground. Or whispering sad apologies to his master as young Megamind's body curls in around the glass sphere while those snot-nosed terrors wail on his poor master.

Or when Metro Man once again ruins his body in some way, and he's forced to watch from a slowly shrinking puddle as his boss is beaten up and thrown in the back of the cruiser until a brainbot finds him and takes him to his back-up body to once again find a way to rescue 'daddy'…

It's times like those that he hates his round, finny little form. It's times like those that he hates the little sphere that keeps him alive when his suit is destroyed…

But he has no choice. He wasn't graced with powerful limbs and oxygen-breathing lungs like most minions. He wasn't blessed with powerful muscles and a hulking frame that could easily protect his charge…

So he sits there miserably on the side of his master's bed, in that little glowing sphere, staring glumly at his master, laying there with tubes in his nose and an IV in his arm, wishing he had a body…

Megamind's eyes flutter open weakly, fighting the sedatives that are keeping him from the pain of all the injuries he sustained fighting that weasel Tighten.

"Sir! You're awake! How are you feeling sir? Can I call someone? Is there anything I can do-" Even as he speaks, asking these things that any competent minion could easily fulfill, he knows they are dumb questions. Does his master look okay? And is there anything he could've done that would've been remotely helpful? No, but he asks them anyways because besides Miss Ritchie, who had long ago fallen asleep in the uncomfortable chair in the corner, no one else is there who cares enough about the blue alien to ask.

Megamind smiles weakly at his friend, a grateful sort of smile. And then Minion feels a little useful. Because at least he's there to support his master, to encourage him.

And when Megamind reaches over and wraps his gloveless hands around Minion's sphere, pulling the ball of water across the small expanse of sheet and against his chest, wrapping tired, bruised arms around his one and only real friend, Minion realizes he doesn't need a body. He doesn't need real arms and legs.

Most minions are big, strong, powerful. Creatures made specifically to protect and care for their charges. But those are normal minions. Those are usual minions.

Megamind is far from normal. Far from usual. He doesn't need protection. Well, perhaps from himself sometimes. He doesn't need someone with diamond-hard skin and lazer-shooting eyes, or acid spit, or super speed. He needs someone who will listen to all his insane plans. His master needs someone who will always come back when they fight, because what they were fighting about was stupid. His master needs someone who will listen to his insane rambling, and understand every word of it. His master needs someone who will willingly, and joyfully, take part in his master's experiments (the ones that don't involve killing Metro Man).

His master needs someone who will always be by his side. Who he can hold onto to feel safe when he feels alone in solitary confinement, or now, in a hospital gurney, or on the first day of school, when all of the other children, including that goody-two-shoes punk turn and gasp and stare at his master with fear.

So as his master closes his eyes again, a small, content smile on his split lip as Minion whispers things like "You did fantastically today sir!" and "You'll feel better after a good night's rest," and "That swell-haired goody-two-shoes was never as heroic as you were today sir!" Minion feels like the greatest, most useful, most important minion to ever serve his master's kind.

When his master finally falls back into a deep, healing sleep, no longer alone or frightened, he feels like the very best minion ever.

So anyway. Read. Review. AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE GO VOTE ON THE POLL IN MY PROFILE! PLEASE! EVEN IF YOU'VE NEVER READ MY STUFF BEFORE! I'm almost done with my latest story, and I have a month of vacation from school coming up. I need something to occupy my time.