Chapter Text
Cheerful music blasts through your earbuds. You walk quickly down the dark street. There’s no one else around. Working the closing shift isn’t unusual for you, so you can ignore the stillness of the usually busy area when you walk home.
Listening to music helps. It gives you pep in your step after a long day. Although nothing has ever happened to you on your way home before, the discrete can of mace in your jacket pocket also gives you some sense of security.
As you go past the mouth of an alley, you see something out of the corner of your eye. Not wanting any trouble, you take a few more steps before coming to a stop. You think you saw a flicker of purple light in that black alleyway. You cautiously turn around, unable to restrain your curiosity.
You peer down the dingy space between two buildings. There’s a silhouette of an overflowing dumpster on one side and some trash bags on the other. A dim purple light is coming from somewhere down there.
You can faintly hear something over the chords of your music. Your cold stiff fingers remove an earbud. Is someone whimpering?
“Hello? Do you need help?” You call out against your better judgement.
The noise stops. Just as you’re about to write the whole thing off, the light flickers again and the whimpering starts louder than before. Your feet take you into the alley without conscious thought.
As you go further down, you see that there is something else next to the trash bags. It’s a beaten up old box laying on it’s side. The dim purple glow and noises are coming from inside it.
You kneel down and feel the cold damp of the concrete seeping into your jeans. One of the box flaps blocks your view. You reach out and lift it up.
It takes a moment for you to process what you are seeing. When your brain catches up to your eyes, a horrified gasp escapes you. It’s a bitty bone.
You’ve seen them before. Recently, the little skeletons seem to have become a popular pet. You aren’t sure if “pet” is really the right word to use, since they are sentient creatures. But you always thought they looked cute in their tiny clothes.
This bitty bone is naked. He’s cowering away from you. His small dirty skeleton body is shoved as far into the corner of the box as it can be. Purple tears are leaking out of his eye sockets. Inside the bones of his rib cage floats a small glowing purple heart.
You lean forward and extend your hand to pick him up. His heart flickers and the sound that comes out of his mouth is primal terror. You draw back quickly.
“Hey, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help.”
You try to reassure the bitty bone. But he doesn’t seem to hear you. It looks like he’s too terrified to understand anything you say. There are specs of purple dust gently floating away from his heart. They sputter like embers and then go out.
You’ve never owned a bitty bone, but you’re not stupid. The shivering skeleton is dying. You can’t leave him like this.
“I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. It’s gonna be okay. I’m taking you home with me.”
As you lift up the box, the bitty bone lets out a piercing wail. Then he falls silent. Your heart clenches.
What if you look down and there’s only dust?
You rush the rest of the way home. Once you make it through the door of your apartment, you kick off your shoes. Only then can you bear to check the contents of the box.
The bitty bone lays unconscious. His purple heart feebly pulses. He’s alive.
You take a deep breath. For just a moment, you let yourself relax. Then you get to work.
You set your messenger bag down on your comfy second-hand couch. The box and the bitty bone are put on the living room table in front of it. Then you go to the kitchen.
The first thing you want to do is warm him up. You don’t know if a bitty bone can feel cold, but he was shivering. So you put your hot water bottle in the microwave and wait.
When it’s ready, you take it back to the living room. It’s so tempting to take the bitty bone out of the dirty box. But you don’t want him to be in an unfamiliar place when he wakes up. He would probably panic.
You set the water bottle down in the box. It’s a special bottle, covered in fleecy material. Comforting heat radiates out from it.
Then you gently scoop up the bitty bone. He feels weightless in your hands. The bones that you thought would jab and poke leave no indentations on your skin.
You set him down on the fluffy water bottle. It’s probably only your imagination, but it looks like he nestles into it. You root through your bag, looking for something that could be a blanket.
The only thing you can find is a rumpled cloth handkerchief. It was a gift and it has your initials monogrammed in the corner. You think it’s too nice to use, so it’s clean.
You carefully cover the poor little skeleton with it.
A yawn makes your jaw pop uncomfortably. It’s way past your bedtime. You stare down at the bitty bone. You’re not leaving him alone out here.
You drag the comforter off of your bed. One of the couch cushions becomes your pillow. You curl up on the couch, exhausted.
“Goodnight,” you whisper. The purple glow of the bitty bone’s heart comforts you as you drift into sleep.