Chapter Two

Birdie woke up unpleasantly warm. Wearing a lot of layers seemed great in theory, it meant that they would be able to survive the coldness of their cabin, and could put more stuff in their bag.

Wearing a lot of layers was very good in theory, but not so great when there was a blanket thrown on top of them that felt like it had just come out of the dryer.

They struggled to open their eyes. Heat radiated from their head, their chest. It would have been a pleasant sensation, if it wasn't for the fact that it was too much at once, in an unfamiliar setting.

The lights finally went out, making it easier to keep their eyes open, to start waking up. The second thing they noticed, was that they felt like they were made of jelly. Like hot jelly.

Hot jelly.

A soft, disgruntled, disgusted groan escaped past their lips. So not only were they hot jelly right now, their vocal cords were coated in sand.

Once they were sitting up and lazily looking around the room they were in, probably in the clinic, they pawed at the zipper of their coat, pulling it down to the best of their abilities, with some assistance from the ghostly golden hands that had popped as soon as they showed signs of needing help.

Birdie decided that they would freak out about those at a later time, and continued to get their layers off before they were finally just wearing a once-white undershirt and too tight bandages that were a sort of rust color winding up and down their arms and around their torso. They ignored the sharp gasp and started on their pants and several layers of leggings they were wearing until they were in their sleeping leggings.

Laying back down and pulling the blanket back onto them, Birdie lightly ran their fingers on the bandage covering the front of their neck now that it wasn't covered by the turtle neck that they had been wearing. Sighing, they curled up and faced the wall.

The fog was slowly lifting off of their mind, memories of how they got here came back to them similar to the way waves would lap at a beach. The clearest thing that came to mind was how pretty the grocer was, and how scared and concerned he was.

Birdie couldn't remember any of the conversation, however, or if they even had a conversation. They did remember someone talking, but it was likely that it was one-sided, considering what had happened.

They closed their eyes, sleep was calling for them again now that they had cooled off and comfortably bundled up under the fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket. The last thing that they heard before they were pulled back into the bliss that came in the form of unconsciousness was whispering, and nearly silent footsteps.

Ghostly green hands gently pulled the bandages away from the human's arms, revealing clumsily stitched gashes. The wounds themselves were healing up decently enough, but it was obvious to the taller skeleton that no antibiotic had been applied, nor had the wounds been cleaned properly. Doc sighed, it had been an at-home job, done either by the patient, or someone close to them.

And, he wearily eyed the blood-stained shirt, it seemed as it wasn't just their arms that had been slashed at.

"What's the diagnosis, Doc?" G came up behind him, peeking at the sleeping human over his shoulder.

"From what I can see, they had been attacked," Doc frowned at the wall, not seeing it, "or abused. They've been starved so that points captivity. Honestly I don't know how they're alive." he let out a long sigh.

"Hmm," G looked up at his pseudo-brother, "Well, Sugar said that they had picked up beans, peanut butter, soup, things that could last quite a while and high in protein. I'm getting their blood work done, but I think it's likely that they have some form of hypoglycemia."

"They were pretty pale when they came in," Doc pondered, "And Sugar did say that they were shaking."

G leaned over to feel the human's hands, doing his best not to disturb their sleep, "They've got cold hands, and they're pretty bundled up."

"And, evidence points to being too warm earlier," Doc said, glancing at the pile of clothes on the ground. G snorted. "You said they were wearing a lot of layers?"

"Yep," G drawled out, "A big coat, a couple of sweaters, a couple of shirts, pants, and lots of leggings."

"They could have been running away," Doc remarked, rubbing at his chin. He sighed and turned to leave the room, the poor human had enough to deal with right now, they didn't need the two skeletons hovering over them when they woke. Especially considering how they had reacted to Sugar.

"So…?" G turned on his heel to follow his brother out of the room.

"We'll never know until they tell if they're even willing to talk about it."

The door closed behind them.

The next morning, still far too early for the sun to rise, Birdie woke again. Their skull pounded with a magnificent headache, nearly drowning out the dull pain that radiated from the rest of their body.

Birdie groaned, and immediately regretted it, their tongue was currently made of sand and irritated their throat. Their eyes opened against their will, but this time there was no annoyingly bright light.

Sitting up, they were relieved to notice that they didn't feel like hot jelly this time, but the pain in their chest grew. Looking down, it became obvious that someone had redone the stitched, applied new bandages, and put them in a hospital gown that was an interesting shade of light green with a dark green plant pattern.

"You shouldn't be sitting up," a voice coming from the corner startled them, "Doc worked real hard patching you back up. Did you know that technically, you should be dead?"

Despite the light coming from the night-light by their (temporary) bed, all Birdie could see of the stranger was his glowing golden eyes.

Birdie could only blink at him, it was much too soon after waking up to deal with a hostile skeleton.

"yeah, and?"