See the previous chapter for the disclaimer. ^^ It'll pretty much go for the whole story.

A/N I'm gonna try to stick to an update every Friday or Saturday? It might end up changing some, but it should work for now I think so long as I don't get too busy.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

"Decans, sweetheart, I need you to stay in your room for a little while, okay?"

The very small skeleton sat curled up on his bed, knees drawn to his chest protectively. It protected his ribs, which always seemed to be at least a little bit injured. Right now they were really hurt, every breath wheezing. He nodded obediently. "Okay, Momma," he whispered out. He was scared to talk louder. Things would get loud really soon, but it wouldn't be him making the noises. That was never a good idea.

"That's my good boy," she soothed, reaching out and caressing his cheek. It tugged against the small cut on his face, but Decans leaned into the touch all the same. "My little treasure. Stay here and stay safe, and read your new book until I come back, okay?"

Decans could do that. He had learned how to read recently, and had fallen in love with it, whispering words out loud and running his fingers over the printed ink. It was kind of like an escape from the world that didn't risk him getting hurt. Momma had gotten him a few books since then that he tried to hide under his pillow. That way Daddy wouldn't take them away.

"Okay, M-Momma," he nodded, hands starting to shake. He reached out to hold his new book to get them to stop. It didn't really work, but it had been worth a try.

She gave him a kiss on the head and then she was gone, Decans trying to memorize the warm feeling she left behind. It was nicer to focus on that than other things.

The shouting started only a few seconds later. Loud and shrill, it cut through the walls and door like they weren't even there. Decans flinched, then let out a little breath as it jostled his ribs. They made a sort of crunching sound, even with the bandages trying to hold them together. At least Momma had helped him clean them this time.

The small five-year-old tried to focus on reading his book and its words instead of the ones being screamed. "L-look, J-jj-jane," he whispered shakily. "Look-k, Dick. L-l-look and s-see."

The shouts reached a new crescendo, and Decans flinched, starting to tremble. That only made his ribs hurt worse though, the quietest whimper slipping out. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes against the world for a moment before looking back at his book.

A tear dripped down his cheek to plop onto the page, threatening to smear ink and colors. He reached out with a thin finger to carefully wipe it away, because he wanted this book to remain perfect. Everything else might be messed up, and it might all be Decans fault, but this wouldn't be. It was the only thing he could fix.

.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him abruptly out of the nightmare, the five-year-old gasping awake. His ribs were really hurting, a deep stabbing pain that made him wish he could go back to sleep. It wasn't his normal bed though, somehow feeling warmer than he ever thought possible. It was amazing, and he soaked in the feeling even as he attempted to figure out where he was.

Everything was blurry through tears, but Decans managed to make out bright colors. Blinking hard, his vision cleared enough to see another skeleton's face alarmingly close to his own. Letting out a squeak of alarm, he flinched violently backwards, hard enough to send him reeling. The squeak cut off abruptly as he felt himself start to fall. It was going to hurt, but don't cry out, don't make a sound, Daddy and Momma don't like that. Bones would crunch and burn but don't say a word, he needed to find a sink so he could clean it if he could even move, sometimes he couldn't because it hurt it would hurt so bad –

An arm wrapped impossibly gentle around him kept him from hitting the ground.

Staring up with a tear-streaked face, Decans was finally able to make out the features of the same colorful skeleton that had brought him home last night. His new friend.

"D-dd-d-doctor F-fresh," he stammered out in recognition, voice painfully quiet. He flinched again as soon as he spoke, because Daddy didn't like him talking.

"Dat's me, broski! But ya can leave off dat 'doctor' part, too formal, remember?" Fresh agreed, a frown on his face. It was a different type of frown than a sad one, the kind that nurses and doctors usually had, but Decans couldn't quite place the emotion. Maybe he'd figure it out later.

"S-s-sorry," he whispered instead. Because he had talked, because it was his fault for almost falling, and because his ribs were hurting and that was his fault too.

"Nah, dis one is def my fault, lil' broski," Fresh immediately insisted, that same frown on his face. "Shoulda remembered you were all up an' skittish and respected dat. Ya were just sleepin' so well an' I'm a huge cuddler, yo, so I just didn't move ya. My bad."

Decans stared with wide eyes, face betraying his total lack of understanding. He was blaming himself? Adults were never wrong, so why was this one saying he had been? It was all Decans' fault. He had the nightmare, he had talked when he should have stayed silent and flinched when he should have stayed still. That was the way it always was – even Momma said so, and Momma was always right.

"Th-th-that…" he swallowed hard, trembling as he whispered out the rest, "th-that doesn't mm-ma-make s-sense."

Doctor Fresh blinked, a blank expression on his face for a second before he raised one eyebrow. "What about dat is confusin' ya?" he asked, tilting his head slightly to one side.

"I-it's not your f-fault," Decans attempted to explain, starting to sniffle a bit. "It's a-always mine."

"What's got ya thinkin' dat, lil' broski?" the adult asked, head tilting further as he carefully pulled the tiny child more securely onto his lap. Decans flinched at the motion, but didn't move away, staying carefully still.

He…had never really talked this much before. Momma said it was dangerous to do that, and from personal experience, Decans had to agree. Even if he was really quiet, it seemed like Daddy always heard, and Daddy always got mad. It was better to just stay quiet and sit in his room. But Doctor Fresh was asking him questions, and that meant he was supposed to respond, so hopefully he wouldn't get in trouble later. That wouldn't feel good, especially since his ribs were still really hurting.

Decans shrugged, but Doctor Fresh just looked like he was waiting for more, so the five-year-old took a shaky breath. "…I-it's what's always tr-true," he replied hesitantly, staring down at his hands as they balled themselves into his shorts. "I'm n-not quiet, so I g-get hurt. I-I don't clean things s-so I get sick. A-and I m-make Daddy spend a lot of m-money when I get s-sick, so he gets mad again. And then M-Momma gets hurt asking h-him to."

Doctor Fresh had a scary expression on his face, brows furrows and mouth twisted into a frown. It looked almost like when Daddy got mad, but not quite that frightening, because Doctor Fresh didn't smell like the glass bottles and he wasn't raising his hand to strike. That didn't stop Decans' bones from rattling together a little louder, and he hugged himself tightly to try and get it to stop.

"Dat is da most funking unrad thing I've heard!" Doctor Fresh immediately blurted, huffing out an frustrated breath and then taking a deeper one. "Look, lil' broski, Imma be honest with ya here – you're Pop isn't a good person. He's a bully, an' dat's not okay in da least. Whatever he's said to ya is probably straight up false, yo. None of dat is your fault! You're a kid, you're s'posed to be loud! Make noise, be happy, live life an' all that! No point in sittin' around bein' so quiet ya forget ta have fun once in a while."

Decans stared with wide eyes, listening but not comprehending. There was apparently more though, Doctor Fresh taking a breath before continuing on.

"Ya get sick 'cause you've got what dey call a degenerative soul. Dat basically means it's gonna be weak by nature, which hurts dat immune system in a bad way. Ya get sick 'cause of dat, which isn't something you can control. Ya can't help who ya are, no point in blaming yourself for it."

The five-year-old stared for a moment before bursting into tears.

It was apparently far too much for him to handle at that moment. He was hurting, in a completely new environment, with an adult he had only known for a day and was his first friend, and had just had his entire worldview upended. He cried silently, the only sound the shuddering breaths he took as his cheeks grew wet.

"Aw, dangit," Doctor Fresh murmured under his breath. Decans missed the momentary blank expression on the adult's face, but he didn't miss the two little pills being offered to him. Those were the magic pills that he sometimes got at the hospital, that made his bones hurt less. He didn't even wait for water before swallowing them. He never got those at home before. Not that this place was home.

Decans let out a little gasp as arms wrapped around him again. His first thought was to freeze, because this was going to hurt. He just knew it, because touching always hurt. Even when it was Momma. But Doctor Fresh had been different before and apparently this time followed that trend.

The hug was gentle and soft, applying barely any pressure at all to his fragile ribcage. And Doctor Fresh was so incredibly warm, and his jacket was so incredibly soft, that the five-year-old found himself just pressing himself a little closer. He didn't notice the way his tears soaked into the adult's shirt, far more focused on the soft reassurances being whispered.

Decans couldn't help but feel a little guilty that this hug was nicer than Momma's. He really should let go, but…maybe….maybe it'd be okay to stay for just a moment more.

A/N A few bumps along the road are pretty much expected for a scared little kid, but Decans seems to be settling in pretty well so far. Let's just hope it stays that way, eh?~

-Aiva

Reviews are always greatly appreciated!