#human!bitty

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

———-

Cherry's severe anxiety ruled him out as our food fetcher, and Lil Bro declared that he'd met his activity quota for the month. Yanyan couldn't be bothered with menial tasks like lifting and carrying, nor could he be seen in a lowbrow location like Grillby’s. That left the task of gathering our meals to fall upon Cap's broad and hopefully capable shoulders. It also meant that I would be going to Grillby’s since Cap took his job as my caretaker so seriously that he refused to let me out of his sight again. 

I don't blame him. If my “pet” trashed my kitchen so badly that the entire worldly concept of breakfast suffered a critical hit, I wouldn't leave them unsupervised either. Brassberry never took me to Grillby’s with him though because the Snowdin Royal Guard frequented the establishment. Nobody else seemed concerned, but I couldn't help wondering if this was a good idea (says the human!bitty who thought a homemade pancake breakfast was a good idea).

Gathering everyone's order became another ordeal in our fraught-with-peril quest to just have a meal today since each skeleton had specific requests, and each of his housemates felt the need to pass commentary on those requests.

Cherry asked for the Junior Grillby’s Special with extra mustard on the burger and fries, which was met with a chorus of indignation and outrage. I added a tiny “eww” under my breath. Mustard is gross, but I didn't want Cherry to feel bad. Hopefully someone else would order something that I could nibble off of. Lil Bro dashed those hopes when he spoke up next. He wanted the Grillby’s Special with, of all things, honey slathered on the burger and fries.

“Degenerate,” hissed Yanyan.

"Gross,” Cap said, making an exaggerated gagging sound.

“Why?” cried a distraught Cherry.

I just gave my best Neutral Face of Displeasure but said nothing. Maybe Yanyan would share his food with me. He had impeccable taste… except when it came to burgers and fries apparently. 

Before Yanyan told us what he wanted, he launched into a lengthy tirade about the quality of any establishment that didn't serve Glamburgers. To Yanyan, the Glamburger (which I'd never even heard of) was the pinnacle of branded gourmet cuisine, unrivaled by anything that came out of the cut-rate grease trap next door. I assume he meant Grillby’s. Yanyan took a moment to collect himself from the emotional distress of not getting a Glamburger and dictated a long and complicated order to us with special requests for things like kale, tofurkey, vegan cheese, and sprouted chia seed buns. I looked around, sure that the haughty skeleton was joking, but the other housemates were just sighing and rolling their eyelights.

Tofurkey is a real thing? What the heck is it? Toes? Fur? Keys?! I grew more alarmed the more I considered the possibilities, and I hadn't even thought about the other ingredients yet!

“you're really gonna waste a trip to Grillby’s on health food?” Lil Bro asked,  scornful. Ah, healthy foods. Antioxidants and Omega-3s and superfoods and whatnot. I know nothing about health-conscious options; I am all about flavor with the curves to prove it. You couldn't change Yanyan's mind by mocking him though. A person needed tact and an appeal to the skeleton’s ego for that.

“You're already so slender, Yanyan. Isn't kale and-” I struggled to remember the words he'd used. “-tofurkey for people who are on diets?”

Yanyan preened at the compliment, just like I knew he would. “I WOULDN'T WANT ANYONE TO THINK I NEED TO DIET. I GUESS I'LL GET THE SPECIAL.” Finally, food that I can actually eat with no weird add-ons! “WITH EXTRA GLITTER ON THE BURGER AND FRIES!”

Dammit!

I couldn't count on Brassberry, asleep or not, to choose something normal. His usual consisted of a Grillby’s Special double with steak fries. This might seem normal for a monster who prides himself on being tough and macho, even if the fries are thick cut potatoes and not actual meat. The problem is what he does to the aforementioned food. He absolutely saturates it in appalling amounts of ketchup. 

Cap was my only hope to finally get a taste of non-ketchup-flavored food from the Underground's famous Grillby’s Bar and Grill. I believed in him, but I got a bit less confident and a lot more nervous when Cap placed me carefully against his cervical vertebrae and tucked a warm scarf around me. I usually rode around in Brassy's pocket, safely hidden from sight. Sure, I could enjoy the view from Cap's mountainous height, but any monster we passed could easily spot me.

I felt exposed, despite burrowing down into my little scarf nest. Maybe Grillby’s, a popular hangout and restaurant destination, would be totally empty during the lunch rush? A very small and vulnerable girl can hope.

“Make sure nothing happens to our human!bitty,” Yanyan called to us as we stepped outside, which isn't at all ominous. I watched the door close on him, flanked on either side by Lil Bro and Cherry who nodded their agreement to ensuring my safety against dangers unknown (to me anyway).

I was now alone with Cap in the big, wide dangerous world of Snowdin, and all I could think of was that I'd been upgraded from vermin to pest to Brassy's pet to their human!bitty.

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My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

———-

As a true testament to Brassberry’s exhaustion, the scent and sound of a potential house fire didn't wake him. It did, however, summon our remaining housemates, who made their entrances to the scene of the crime against breakfast in a rather grandiose fashion. As a side note, this also did not wake Brassberry though YanYan and Cap must have passed right by his prone, drooling form on the couch during their heroic charge to the kitchen.

Cap exploded through the doorway, blue and orange eyelights darting frantically around the kitchen warzone that Cherry and I had created. The moment he spotted me in all of my wearing-the-ingredients glory, he rushed over, scooping me into his hands and lifting me up to his face to scrutinize me for injuries or impending death. With a surprising gentleness, his large thumb wiped the flour from my face. I saw actual tears in his sockets as he gave me a relieved nuzzle with minimal bitty-crushing involved. I guess he took his bitty protection assignment really seriously, so I patted him and murmured reassurances about my safety and his diligence.

My vantage point pressed against Cap's cheekbone also gave me an unobstructed view of YanYan in all of his dramatic glory as he very literally swept into the room like a Southern belle descending a grand staircase to swoon over the news of her husband's untimely death… complete with ensemble. Yanyan wore an absolutely normal black satin teddy, the pinnacle of comfort and luxury, but he'd also thrown on a sheer black floor-length cover-up complete with feather trim. He delicately fished a slice of lime out of one of his sockets, tossing it carelessly into the sink before assessing the situation that must have dragged him from his requisite beauty sleep. Wait, did skeletons use limes on their sockets instead of cucumbers?

I held back a hysterical giggle imagining tiny pancakes instead of limes or cucumbers.

Yanyan sighed, then strode over to the counter to peer at the singular pathetic not quite pancake. "SOMEONE OTHER THAN BRASSBERRY TRIED TO MAKE BREAKFAST AGAIN, DIDN'T THEY?" His tone held absolutely no surprise. How often did this happen?

Cherry sniffled from his spot on the floor, trying to control his sobbing enough to squeak out an apology, but Yanyan quickly shushed him.

"IT LOOKS A LOT BETTER THAN MY LAST ATTEMPT," he commented, actually kneeling down to place a hand on Cherry's shoulder. That’s right, Yanyan knelt on the dirty kitchen floor, in the rubble of our disaster area and actually initiated a comforting touch on our smallest (aside from me, of course) housemate. Cherry leaned into the touch, and Yanyan swallowed his uncertainty and let him.

Lil Bro grabbed a mug, and a bottle of syrup from the cupboard. He filled the mug with syrup, then tore up the failed pancake and tossed it in as well. I got strong "hot cocoa with miniature marshmallow" vibes despite the unusual substitutions. There’s a thin line between “not a picky eater” and “consuming actual garbage,” and Lil Bro shuffled past that line, mug in hand.

We all watched in horrified awe as Lil Bro chugged his beverage.

When he finished, he laid his hand on Cherry's other shoulder. "tastes a lot better than my last attempt." The magic words soothed Cherry’s panic to a controllable level.

Cherry let out a wheezy little chuckle, and Lil Bro and Yanyan shared a quick glance over his back that clearly stated that they'd accomplished their mission of consoling Cherry for the low, low price of a bit of humility and choking down a mug of syrup-lubed inedible pancakes.

With the entire crisis now truly averted and nobody eager to start cleaning up the mess, we discussed some alternatives for breakfast. Unfortunately, breakfast time slipped away during the course of our misguided cooking attempts, but that also meant that restaurants were now open for the early lunch crowd. Cap suggested grabbing some Grillby’s to go, and with only one house member abstaining from the vote (due to sleep), the decision was unanimous. 

I doubted Brassberry would've dissented anyway. He loved Grillby’s, and even if that fact had changed since yesterday morning, his only other choice for a meal had been utterly destroyed by culinary ineptitude. Collectively, the housemates and I opted to close the door on the kitchen and simply leave the problem for the future, a future in which we move to a new house with a not-ruined kitchen.

These aren't the droids you're looking for. Ignore that man behind the curtain. There is no war in Ba Sing Se. What kitchen disaster? Now, I have no idea how those pop culture references played out due to limited TV access, but I'm sure things worked out just fine with minimal effort from those involved. I'm usually right, except when it comes to pancake measurements. 

In hindsight, Cherry and I probably would've gotten the same results if we just used bombs like Mettaton suggested….

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My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

———-

Project Pancakes resumed with a larger bowl and what Cherry and I estimated was the correct amount of additional milk. Estimating ingredients may have been a mistake on our part, but thankfully, we made a lot of other mistakes too. Mistakes cancel each other out, right? Right?! Cherry and I actually consulted our recipe for our next steps, but I think the recipe book should have included some vocabulary worksheets because neither of us knew what a whisk looked like. Cherry solved our dilemma with some context clues, clever skeleton.

"It says to whisk the ingredients together, so it must be like stirring! We can use a spoon for that!" Cherry beamed proudly when I agreed with his reasoning. Besides, we'd already gathered every available spoon in our search for a teaspoon, so they were all lined up and ready to be whisks! Cherry even made a joke by putting spoons up to his face and calling them whisk-ers. After the tension of last night, it felt nice to laugh.

With his focus returning to the task at hand, Cherry's brow furrowed in concentration. The tip of his red tongue stuck out the side of his mouth, and he stirred those ingredients like the wind or whatever simile applies to stirring something in a vigorous and sort of messy way. I quickly curbed his enthusiasm for the sake of the battered batter. If we spilled again, we would have to start all over, and it had already been quite an ordeal to get this far.

"The recipe says not to over mix it," I reminded him. He lifted me up so that we could assess the pancake batter together. The batter still had some pockets of dry flour and obvious streaks of egg yolk that weren't incorporated into the mixture. We pondered this dilemma with the maximum amount of seriousness.

"How do we know if we mixed it enough?" Cherry’s voice held some well-deserved skepticism.

"It'll be fine once we start cooking it," I ventured with no real confidence. I'm no pancake whisperer. My knowledge of pancakes begins and ends at "flat, round, and edible."

Luckily for us (and we certainly needed it), Cherry knew which pan Brassberry used to make pancakes. The recipe recommended a non-stick pan, and the pan Cherry showed me didn't look like a stick at all. Success! Cherry also produced a flipper, the special utensil that Brassy used to flip the pancakes so they cooked evenly on both sides. I’m not entirely convinced that the utensil is called a flipper, but if we’re making up measurements, we can make up words for kitchen items too. We moved our supplies to the stove for the final, most crucial of steps, and ran into yet another problem.

The pancake recipe stated the batter should be cooked over medium heat, but the stove only had weird knobs and none of them said medium. There weren’t letters or words at all, only numbers. After inspecting the knobs and discussing our strategy, we managed to get a flame going. Behold kitchens, the one room in a house where we light things on fire, hopefully on purpose but sometimes also by accident! So far, our amount and placement of fire was intentional, so I considered it a win.

Within the next five minutes I learned that flour explodes if it gets too hot, that eggs scramble if they aren't mixed into a batter well enough, what "non-stick pan" means, and that you can still get food stuck to them if you are an inept human!bitty chef and an anxiety-ridden skeleton chef’s assistant. We'd barely managed to scrape our lesson in how not to cook out of the pan when it burst into flames. Is milk flammable?!

Smoke began to billow from the pan, and I couldn't tell if the deafening wails assaulting my ears were from Cherry or the smoke detector, though Cherry's hysterical tears suggested the former. Thankfully either the smoke or the noise summoned a knight in orange hoodie armor. Lil Bro just appeared in the kitchen seemingly from thin air. He turned the burner off and slid a lid over the pan to smother the flames. Crisis averted, he surveyed the kitchen. I can't imagine what he must have thought of us.

One human!bitty stood sheepishly on the counter covered in a fine patina of floor. Milk and flour spattered the countertop, cabinets, and floor. Utensils were scattered over every available surface, and Cherry was rocking back and forth on the floor with batter from the flour explosion on top of his skull. Only Lil Bro’s timely intervention prevented us from turning our intentional fire into an accidental one. Our win had devolved into a major L.

The single surviving pancake sat on a plate. It was not round. It was not flat. I doubted anyone would want to check if it was edible. We would definitely not be having pancakes for breakfast today.

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My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

----------

In those precious seconds following Brassberry’s arrival, our slumbering fellowship returned to wakefulness. Cap lunged forward just in time to prevent Brassy from faceplanting onto the floor; thankfully his strength turned out to be useful for more than just crushing human!bittys. He easily lifted his boyfriend into his arms, glancing around for a suitable place to set him down. The sweet skeleton’s mismatched eyelights shimmered with gathering tears of worry as he clutched Brassy to his chest. 

Cherry and Lil Bro leapt away from the couch as if the cushions were recently activated joy buzzers, clearing a space for Brassberry to rest in as much comfort as he could manage in his current state. Cap laid Brassy down, and Cherry grabbed one of our movie-watching blankets to drape over the exhausted skeleton. Fighting off unconsciousness with the last of his stubborn willpower, Brassy rose up onto his elbows and looked right at me. He must have known I had questions.

“Well?” snapped YanYan, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Trust YanYan not to beat around the bush so much as explode from it in a whirlwind of confetti and upbeat pop music.

Cap, Cherry, and Lil Bro leveled a fierce collective glare at YanYan to no effect, but Brassy and I were having our own silent communication session. I shook my head at him, letting him know that I could wait for my answers. No matter how tempting it would be to ask for immediate explanations  and even though I knew that Brassberry would give me those explanations right now if I wanted them, I couldn’t do that to him. He needed to rest more than I needed to be reassured, so I swallowed down every anxious word that sprang into my mouth.

Instead, I reached out a tiny human hand and laid it atop the slim, delicate bones of YanYan’s hand. “Let him sleep,” I said quietly. Since these events impacted my life the most, I had the final say, or so I hoped. YanYan huffed, but he didn’t press the issue. Apparently, I am quite the YanYan whisperer.

“Keep her safe,” I heard Brassy rumble, but when I turned back to him, I noticed that he aimed his words at Cap instead of YanYan. 

There is no denying that Cap is big, strong, and intimidating to those who don’t know him, but I’ve seen Cap react to confrontation and to pain. The big softy is hardly what you’d call bodyguard material, even by human!bitty standards. I just couldn’t imagine gentle, sensitive Cap facing down a determined Royal Guard on my behalf; I wouldn’t ask him to either. If it came to an altercation, I would surrender myself before I allowed any of my skeleton housemates to be injured.

I expected YanYan to protest, to insist that I be handed over to his care immediately until Brassberry recovered (or perhaps permanently), but strangely enough, he nodded his agreement to Cap’s appointment as my protector. If YanYan (who loved to argue) didn’t plan on arguing, neither would I. I mean, aside from Brassberry’s poor condition, no danger had manifested itself anywhere in my vicinity.

With Brassberry’s unconscious body occupying the couch, there wasn’t much else for the rest of us to do except go to our beds and try to get some sleep. Maybe when we all woke up, Brassberry could give us details about what had happened to him during the King’s interrogation… or at least make us some yummy pancakes to soothe our nerves (and stomachs) with syrupy goodness. Maybe he should have made the King some pancakes my tired and overly stressed mind idly mused as Cap picked me up.

Though he and Brassberry were mates, Cap lived in a separate bedroom. I assumed that we would be staying in his room when he carried me carefully up the stairs in stiffly cupped hands. To my surprise, Cap brought me into Brassy’s room. He placed me reverently on my little palatial pillow nest then curled up in his mate’s bed. I think he took comfort in surrounding himself with Brassberry’s scent. I know I did.

Cap put on his bravest face, but unfortunately his bravest face involved a lot of whimpering and forlorn sniffles. Cap was certainly not cut out for strife. I unburied myself from my cozy pillow pile and hopped down onto the bed. Cap watched me as I strolled over to him and began to pet his sticker-covered skull. His eyesockets, wet with tears, closed, and he leaned into my tiny hands so hard that he almost knocked me over. 

When you’re my size, you often rely on others for help. Tonight, I had the remarkable opportunity to give help to someone else- someone much bigger, stronger, and more capable than me. Cap needed my reassurance far more than I needed his protection at that moment. For once, I could provide something other than amusement for one of my skeleton housemates.

It felt amazing.

I continued to stroke Cap’s skull until we finally fell asleep together on Brassy’s pillow. The repercussions of the King’s questioning could wait until we were rested enough to face them.

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

My stomach churned with a mixture of worry and poor dietary decisions. Sure sugary cereal tastes good, but it’s hardly part of a complete breakfast (or dinner) unless you include the glass of orange juice and the muffin. I’d taken my saccharine shooters straight with only minimal milk to soften them, and my tummy couldn’t take the combination of dread and high fructose corn syrup. It staged a protest in the form of stabbing pains.

To make matters worse, as time passed the possibility of this being some minor incident dwindled away. Cherry, Cap, and I periodically exchanged glances, none of us wanting to voice the myriad of scenarios taking place in our minds, each one worse than the last. Cherry’s distressed whimpers called Lil Bro up from the basement like a heart wrenching beacon, and when the lanky skeleton joined us on our Couch of Misery, he actually stayed awake and upright.

“still not home?” he asked us softly. I’m sure Brassy’s signature stomping gait would’ve reverberated through the basement, so it was no surprise that Lil Bro knew he was missing. At Lil Bro’s words, Cherry finally lost his valiant battle to keep it together and burst into tears.. Lil Bro pulled Cherry into his lap, and I climbed into Cherry’s lap. The three of us huddled together like poorly proportioned matryoshka dolls with matching melancholy expressions.

Cherry’s sobs subsided into hiccups and eventually snores with still no Brassberry in sight. Cap drooled as he dozed off with his head at an awkward angle that I’m sure would be causing him some discomfort tomorrow. I wondered if the final member of our vigilant band of clock watchers would succumb to sleep as well, leaving me alone to mull over Brassy’s fate.

Should we go searching for Brassberry? By we I mean the skeletons because the snow outside would be above my head and I’m fairly certain that Brassberry wasn’t hiding out in the two or three square feet of snow drifts outside our door that I would be able to check before I froze to death. We, or rather they, could start at his sentry and fan out… except that monsters turn into dust when they die. If some fatal event had occurred, would we even find a trace of him?

The hour and the minute hands on the clock did their little shimmy and slide as they moved around each other like awkward coworkers who were both walking down a hallway going in the same direction but at different speeds. It came as no surprise to me that Lil Bro dozed off, but I was shocked when YanYan actually came downstairs to join our currently-on-break band of watchmen.

“I couldn’t sleep with every light in the living room blazing away, so I might as well join your little vigil,” YanYan explained, though I hadn’t asked about it and everyone else was asleep. I quickly translated his statement to: I am worried about Brassberry, and I would rather worry with company. I doubted YanYan would ever admit it though.

Without waking any of the other three skeletons, YanYan plucked me from Cherry’s lap and sat down in the chair, placing me on the armrest. He absently petted my hair, glaring icily at the door as it it were somehow blocking Brassy from returning. Oddly enough, the act of petting me proved to be relaxing for both of us. We faced the door together, a united front willing Brassberry to walk through the door with all of our collective might. Ok, my might may not have meant much, but YanYan made up for it by being an expert at getting what he wanted. I could practically feel the Dark Side of the Force radiating from him.

As if on cue, Brassberry staggered through the door. He didn’t have a scratch on him, but he still looked haggard and haunted like he’d been through a warzone. I wanted to say some mood lightening quip like “Wow, I’d hate to see the other guy,” but our resident clown beat me to it. I have no idea how Lil Bro managed to wake up at the exact moment that Brassy arrived, but he opened one socket and delivered my line.

“if you look like that, i’d hate to see the other guy,” he said somberly, letting the joke fall flat with no expectation of laughter. “what happened to you?”

Brassberry’s eyelights hadn’t left me since he stumbled through the door. His next words cut through me like the icy Snowdin wind:

“The King demanded a report from me. He wanted any information I had about the human!bittys,” Brassberry said, then collapsed from the stress and exhaustion of the monarch’s  inquisition.

I was stunned into silence.

What had Brassy told the King about the human!bittys?

About me?

*The Bittyswap idea I am using comes from a conversation I had with @staxurst awhile ago after she drew herself bitty-sized with a full-sized skeleton. Ammazolie also drew a similar concept. There is also an entire AU called bitty!reader with a similar premise but different plot. In conclusion, no need to ask. I don’t own the idea, only my own in-progress plot within the idea. Have fun with it!

*Also, you’re not a dumbass. Nobody has asked this before! 

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

When Brassy woke me up far too early the next morning with the less than appealing offer to join him at his Snowdin Forest sentry station for the day, I politely declined by way of disgruntled groaning to express exactly how much I did not want anything to do with that idea. As much as I enjoy the prospect of slowing freezing to death while simultaneously succumbing to SOUL-crushing boredom, I could put aside my own selfish desires in favor of lazing about in the comfort of my bed, faithfully awaiting my owner’s return.

I only hope that someday my sacrifices will be recognized and rewarded.

I rolled over and resumed my oh-so-attractive signature combination of snoring and drooling, ignoring Brassy as he shuffled around his room getting dressed and stalling to give me plenty of opportunities to decide that I really love frostbite and completely despise comfort. With a pointed sigh, he left. I could hear the heavy thumps of his boots on the stairs and the muffled rumble of his voice as he bade our housemates farewell.

I wondered if YanYan would stop by, but I doubted he’d come within 100 feet of the disaster area that was Brassberry’s room. YanYan had lofty standards. Fortunately for me, nobody else in the house had standards or respect for privacy.

Brassy’s side of the bed hadn’t even cooled down before Cap and Cherry burst through the door to invite me downstairs to watch TV with them. I admired their ability to muster that kind of enthusiasm before noon, so I agreed. Cherry hurried to pick me up before Cap had a chance. I gave the timid skeleton a grateful smile. While Cap seemed to understand how fragile and squishy I am, he still struggled to control his immense strength when it came to handling me.

Cherry carried me in his cupped hands like a captured firefly that he didn’t want to injure. As our procession of two and a half passed YanYan’s room, the house diva made an appearance. He informed me that he planned to go dancing at an exclusive club and invited me along, but the thought of pulse-pounding house music rattling my tiny body to pieces did not sound like my idea of a good time either. I stuck with the original plan, much to YanYan’s poorly disguised disappointment.

I didn’t let the guilt swallow me because I’m just not that into vore, but any lingering misgivings about my choice of activity evaporated completely when Cherry showed me his collection of designer sugar cereals. Bright colors, cartoon mascots, and breakfast marshmallows abounded as the usually timid skeleton extolled the virtues of each individual cereal. After a heated debate, we opted for fruit rings and marshmallows. Cap poured himself some cinnamon squares, and I gloated, the true winner because they both offered me bites of their food which I happily dipped into the cold milk in their bowls.

The three of us piled onto the living room sofa, displacing the resident couch lump who teleported off to quieter pastures.

I snacked through several monster cartoons spanning the duration of a fruit ring, a marshmallow, and a cinnamon square, which left a patina of sugary sparkle on me. The characters and musical numbers were appealing, but I missed some of the humor. I suspected the shows contained lots of inside jokes. I may be fashion forward, but I am way behind on current monster memes, though I did get a laugh from some scenes involving ridiculous Temmies.

At first, I lost track of how much time passed in front of the television. The empty cereal bowls sat on the coffee table as episode after episode of monster cartoons melted together into a mess of colors and sound effects. I noticed Cherry and Cap shooting surreptitious glances at the wall clock during each commercial break, and soon I joined them, anxiously watching the numbers climb past the time when Brassberry usually returned home from work.

The cartoons on the TV screen played on, forgotten, as Cap, Cherry, and I divided our attention between watching the clock and staring at the door. It wasn’t uncommon for Brassberry to be late, but he’d only gone to his Snowdin sentry station and no amount of dawdling could possibly explain his lateness.

Three concerned faces lit up when the door finally swung open only to fall again when a rapidly texting YanYan strolled in. We couldn’t help our reactions, but I know we hurt YanYan’s feelings even if he would never admit it. Nothing ruins a sense of self-importance quite like housemates who greet your return with dismayed scowls.

YanYan huffed and stomped up the stairs, fingers tapping his phone screen furiously as he gossiped about the monsters he’d encountered at the club. Or maybe he was looking for a new apartment with more enthusiastic roommates. My heart went out to YanYan, but we had a much more pressing matter to focus on.

Grim thoughts of Brassberry’s single HP occupied all of our thoughts. Nobody voiced the concern, but we all wondered if some accident had befallen him. What else would prevent him from returning home? We kept coming back to the same unanswered question:

Where was Brassberry?

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

Brassberry opened the front door onto a cozy scene. Stretch actually sat upright on the couch, and Cherry leaned against him companionably while Cap laid on the floor on his stomach in front of him. Laugh tracks and silly sound effects blared from the television. Even YanYan the isolated ice queen had joined them. Kind of.

Like a skeleton goblin, YanYan lurked in the shadows at the top of the stairs. He surveyed those below him through the railing like a visitor at a zoo with a mixture of scorn and envy on his dashing features. Poor YanYan was too prideful to just come downstairs, crash on the couch, and watch mind-rotting TV like everyone else.

The spell broke as four heads swiveled in our direction, finally noticing our arrival. A flurry of movement drowned out Stretch’s casual greeting. Cherry hopped off of the couch to run towards us, but Cap nearly trampled him in his eagerness to reach his boyfriend. With an indignant and fearful squeak, I narrowly avoided being crushed by the two bodies colliding with Brassberry. Fortunately, Cherry’s tiny body clung to the side of Brassy where my hiding place was located.

“Brassberry!” the skeletons shrieked at an eardrum-shattering, neighbors-are-calling-the-cops, little-old-lady-is-hitting-the-ceiling-with-a-broom volume.Cap lifted Brassy off of his feet in a crushing hug, and my cinnamon bunny from earlier nearly made an undignified reappearance as vertigo swept over me.

I'd barely wiggled myself into an adequately upright position when YanYan arrived on the scene, scolding his housemates in an imperious voice. “Honestly, Cap, you should know better than to grab Brassy when he's holding Vex! You could've crushed her! And you, Brassberry! You should be more careful with her!” He plucked me out of Brassy’s pocket and shielded me with one hand as if their oversight might reach out and strike me dead despite his intervention.

Shocked silence descended on the room. Brassberry was thoroughly shamed, but Cherry and Cap looked crestfallen and on the verge of tears. “I'm fine,” I piped up, trying to reassure everyone at once. YanYan narrowed his sockets suspiciously, but the culprits breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“I'm careful with her, YanYan,” pouted Cap, patting me on the head in a manner that I suppose would pass as gentle for anyone not three inches tall. “See?” Cap proclaimed, gesturing at my continued survival as proof of his bitty care skills.

Ah, home sweet potential concussions and possible unintended bitty murder!

Thankfully, Cherry diffused the situation by asking Brassy why we were home so late. I wondered how Brassy would answer such an open and honest question considering my minor meltdown from earlier and the information I’d shared with him about human!bittys.

“We went sightseeing in Waterfall. We had to walk the scenic route back though since Vex didn't care for Riverperson. We stopped on the way home for Cinnamon Bunnies, and here we are!”

I couldn't help noticing Brassy’s blatant omission of our visit to the Dump, but I never got a chance to comment on it because YanYan hissed in outrage.

“I cannot believe you took an illegal human!bitty to Waterfall! What if the Royal Guard Captain saw you? What if Riverperson reported something? Alphys could find out! You'd be arrested, and Vex would be confiscated! We can't let anyone take our human!bitty away, especially not that bitty-torturing lizard!”

According to Brassberry, the fate of human!bittys didn't concern YanYan in the slightest, yet he spoke about my safety with passion and protectiveness. He'd even claimed partial ownership of me! Now, I’m not exactly enthused about being considered a possession, but after the shock of the disappearance of every single other human!bitty except for me, it really warmed my tiny human heart to be included in a group that wanted me around.

But wait, there’s more!

I trust the other members of our household… dare I say, family? In the aftermath of the Oatmeal Incident, they had banded together to sit vigil by my bedside, and even though it involved sharing a personal secret of mine amongst themselves, they did everything within their power to help me heal. YanYan actually cried for me, yet Brassberry kept quiet about the missing human!bittys. He didn’t mention what I’d told him in the Snowdin Bakery either.

Brassberry gave me the option to share my secrets with others or keep them to myself, and I appreciated that. I still wondered though. How did he prioritize his loyalty? It was one thing to leave out information when talking to the family. It simply wasn’t crucial or useful information to them. Would Brassy still lie for me if it endangered his job? Would he risk treason to keep me safe? I still didn’t know, and I didn’t look forward to finding out.