Chapter Text
You and the small skeleton stare at each other. His unblinking eye sockets should be unnerving, but the expression in the purple glow of his wide pupils reminds you of those heartbreakingly sweet dogs and cats that you see on those anti-animal abuse commercials. Whenever one of those commercials comes on, you always mean to change the channel, but in the end you can’t force yourself to look away. It is equally impossible to turn your back on this bitty.
“Sweetie, you need a bath.” You repeat.
Somehow his syrup-covered mandible frowns as he tucks his chin down, obstinately shaking his skull in disagreement. You cover your mouth to hide the amused grin that spreads across your face. Now he seems more like a young child refusing bath time rather than a pitiful pet. At least the bitty is acting less timid.
A purple tongue peeks out of his mouth as he gingerly starts licking the maple syrup off his bones. You’re glad your hand is still covering your mouth, because watching the unsanitary act makes you want to gag. Maybe skeletons normally gave themselves tongue baths, but this skeleton had been left in a garbage strewn alley and who-knows-where before that. He might make himself sick, although you don’t know if things like germs can affect magical beings.
Better to play it safe either way.
The kitchen sink is as good a place as any. You turn on the faucet and stick your hand under the tap to make sure it’s not too hot. A quick trip to the bathroom provides you with the appropriate supplies: lavender body wash, a new toothbrush, and a dry washcloth.
On your return to the kitchen, the water in the sink has risen up to about the height of the skeleton’s collarbone. If it was your bath, you would drain it a little so that you could sit down and relax without submerging your head. However, given your small friend’s nervous nature, you doubt the little one will do much relaxing. So you just shut off the water and leave it.
Before you attempt to coax the bitty into the water, you dubiously consider the pair of pink plastic gloves that rest in the dish rack. What if the skeleton decides to fight back? You still haven’t touched him yet and although he is weak, his canine teeth are on the pointy side.
If he bites, it will hurt and then you might bleed on him which will totally defeat the purpose of the bath. On the other hand, you know that some animals benefit from skin contact. Your friend has a hedgehog and they explained to you that even though a hedgie might curl into a prickly defensive ball, if you use gloves, it takes longer for the hedgehog to get used to being handled and for them to recognize your scent.
But then again, he isn’t really an animal. Even though people keep bittybones as pets, they’re sentient beings. There is only one thing to do. You pick up the gloves and approach the skeleton’s box.
“Look, you’re taking a bath.” You explain and then wave the gloves in front of him. “Now, I want this to be as painless as possible. If you’re going to try and hurt me, I won’t blame you. But I’ll wear these to protect myself.”
The skeleton is curled up tighter than your friend’s hedgie. From the rattling noise and the shifting of the handkerchief, you know that he’s trembling. You frown sympathetically.
“I’m sorry that you’re scared. I won’t intentionally hurt you. Do I need to wear the gloves?”
After a long pause, he looks into your eyes likes he’s searching for something. You don’t know what he sees in them, but he shakes his skull. With a sigh of relief, you set down the gloves. This is good. Slowly but surely, you’re building trust.
Carefully, you reach down into the box. As you get closer, he flinches and squeezes his eye sockets shut tight. You gently grasp the soiled handkerchief and tease it away from his desperate hold. As he is left naked, the skeleton lets out a small whimper that makes your heart clench.
You take a deep breath to fortify yourself. Ever so cautiously, you reach toward the bitty again. Softly, tenderly you scoop him up between the cradle of your palms. The purple pupils that illuminate his dark eye sockets flicker and go out. He stops moving.
“It’s okay! It’s okay!” You murmur fervently, scrambling over to the sink. You partially submerge your hands and the precious burden they carry into the warm water. The skeleton doesn’t react, he’s as still as a lifeless doll.
What have you done? A lump is forming in your throat. Tears begin to blur your vision.
“It’s alright.” You choke out. “I’m here. Please, come back. Can you hear me? You’re safe.” Pleading whispers fall from your lips as your fingers numbly stroke against the bitty’s fragile skull, willing him to respond.
You don’t know how long you stand there waiting.
It’s so slight, you almost don’t notice as the skeleton leans into your touch. You hold your breath. His smooth skull is nuzzling against your wet pruney fingers. His eye sockets drift shut as he starts- humming?
No, not humming.
Your little skeleton is purring! You realize that up until this moment you had not known true happiness. The purring pile of bones makes your heart full in ways you can’t explain.
“You really had me worried. Let’s not do that again.” You speak quietly. His eye sockets open fractionally and for just a moment you swear he smiles.
And then the moment is gone.
The bitty becomes more aware of the situation and pulls back from you and flails. Water splashes up into your eyes and you accidentally drop him into the sink as you jerk in surprise. His splashing becomes increasingly frantic. He doesn’t notice that the water is shallow enough for him to stand up. You wait for him to calm down, but a series of distressed squeaks make you take action.
You dip your hand into the water beside the struggling bitty. With no further encouragement, his small boney hands latch onto your pointer finger. His thrashing lessens and his squeaking trails off. The bitty holds onto you and treads water.
“You can stand up if you like.”
Hesitantly, the skeleton’s legs stop kicking and come to rest at the bottom of the sink. You giggle at the dumbfounded expression on his skull. Purple suffuses on his cheekbones.
“I guess you could say that was a slippery situation?” You tease.
His skull submerges deeper into the water, trying to escape your horrible puns.
“What’s the matter? You’re looking pretty flushed.” You continue. The bitty actually groans.
“Water you moaning about?” You grin cheekily down at him as you apply some of the lavender body wash to the new toothbrush. Rather than replying, the tiny skeleton thrusts his thin dirty arm toward you, eager to distract you from any further punnery.
You softly and thoroughly scrub him clean. Something catches your eye as you begin on his ribs. There, in the middle of his chest, is something carved into the bone of his sternum.
“DTD01?” You make out. It sends a shiver down your spine. The scar looks like a code or a designation number. “Is that your name?”
His newly clean phalanges brush over the gouges. His fingertips trace over it, lingering over the last digit. You can tell that he is remembering something unpleasant.
You wouldn’t have thought a skull could convey anguish, but every curve of the little skeleton’s bones indicated that the scar on his sternum is the mark of a tragedy.
“That’s not your name.” You conclude. “It doesn’t matter if that’s what you were called before, you can pick your own name. That’s what I did. What should I call you?” You know that names hold power. Every person has the right to the choose their own name.
He rests his hand against his sternum and look up at you. He studies your face awhile. Then he decisively points up at you.
“You want me to pick your name?” You shake your head incredulously. A low hum indicates his agreement. You stop scrubbing to think, this is a lot of responsibility.
“Well, you’re a skeleton… How about Scully?” The little skeleton splashes water into your face, intentionally this time. Unfortunately, you are much more gifted when it comes to thinking up puns then making up names.
He vetoes so many names that the water gets cold and you lift him out of the sink. You place him on the counter and hand him the washcloth to use as a towel. It’s frustratingly difficult to find a name for someone other than yourself.
“You’re really not keen on any of those?” You ask beseechingly. The next stop on the find-a-name train is the internet and you know that black void too well to want to explain that to your bitty today.
He looks up at you with bright eyes and grins.
It shocks you still.
“What? What did I say? You’re not… keen? You like ‘keen’?” You try to figure out what just happened to make the small sad skeleton look so happy.
He nods emphatically.
“I guess you are smart and you can be really loud sometimes…” You think back to how he screamed when you first found him in the alley. Who knew that less than a day later you would be here, standing in the kitchen with a new friend?
“Well, Keen, it’s nice to meet you. Make yourself at home.”