Tiny Raven

Saturday night. Ten-forty-seven.

I leaned against the door as I locked it behind us, sighing with relief.

I slowly peeled myself away from the frame and kicked off my shoes. I was so done.

Except I wasn’t.

With a groan I dragged myself to the kitchen to do an inventory.

I checked the list on the fridge, noting that Sans hadn’t added anything. As my inventory went on, I began to realize he hadn’t finished anything off, either.

Technically.

He was meticulous. A single cherry tomato. A spoonful of vanilla ice cream. A single cracker in an otherwise empty box.

Half a cookie.

The skeleton thought he was clever.

I was irritated. His prank made my night even longer, when all I wanted to was to go to bed.

But even as I felt myself getting angrier, I found it endearing.

Sans was testing limits and boundaries. I recognized the behavior. But more than that, he had taken up my offer of an open kitchen.

He had no reason to trust me when I said he could have whatever he wanted.

But he did.

I felt a little lighter.

I grabbed the list off the refrigerator door.

“G’night, Sans!” I called out as I passed the spare rooms. I didn’t know which he had chosen, and the lights were out in both. I didn’t even know if he was actually in one of the rooms. As usual, he had pretty much vanished the moment we walked into my apartment.

For all I knew he was teleporting to the moon.

Still, I hoped he heard me. “Sleep in tomorrow, it’s my day off!”

I closed and locked my bedroom door and changed into my pajamas before situating myself on my bed. I grabbed a notepad and began making a plan.

First thing – find employment for the week. My standard Sunday-morning-routine. Wake up and call all my employers to find out when and where I was needed.

Fortunately my work was pretty stable.

I needed groceries. Food was my second highest priority. I either needed to go shopping first or last.

First meant I would definitely take care of it, at the cost of having to come home afterward. I didn’t want to have ice cream melting in my backseat. Breaking up my “outside” time meant risking not leaving again to do my other errands.

Last meant I would be exhausted by the time I got to it.

I would have to decide that in the morning.

I wanted to stop at Solar’s for lunch, but I was running low on spare cash.

I glanced at my dresser. At the old jewelry box my grandfather had made for me.

It was a simple wooden box with an intricate inlay of a Quetzal, his favorite bird. It was one of my most precious belongings.

The jewelry inside on the other hand … I didn’t wear any of it often. My jobs were either too rough or had strict rules about jewelry for safety reasons.

I was quite attached to my limbs and appendages. I didn’t see a reason to change their current number.

Thievery was a problem, too. I didn’t keep anything in my bag that was worth stealing, normally, and all my coworkers knew it. That’s why I didn’t worry too much about having the extra cash. But if I wore jewelry to my jobs and someone noticed, it wouldn’t take long for the item to wander off.

I could pawn something.

I added “pawn shop?” to my list.

If I couldn’t manage it I could stop at my sister’s café instead. It would be nice to see her.

That left the thrift store.

Sans needed clothes. He didn’t seem to have much body odor of his own, but he had picked up some interesting smells from my workplaces.

Not good interesting, either.

There was only so much showering could do when your clothes were filthy.

I had shown Sans where the washing machine and dryer were, but he hadn’t used them. His showers took at least an hour, but he kept his clothes with him, so I couldn’t throw them into the washer or dryer myself, either.

That meant groceries were my top priority, followed by the thrift shop. If I could stop at a pawn shop we could go to Solar’s for lunch. Otherwise, we’d go to my sister’s café.

Equally important was getting Sans registered. I could do that from home. I had planned on doing it from home.

I kept putting it off. I spent all my spare time focused on researching magic and collars and intent.

That was the absolute first thing I had to do, right after finding work for the week.

“I have the paperwork for that monster, right? I could just … not submit it!”

I groaned as my brain reminded me of last Sunday. I really hadn’t understood why Grillby had looked so … concerned when I suggested it.

I understood now. In fact, I had a really good idea why trying to game the system like that was a horrible plan.

It probably would have ended with Sans dead.

Monster slaves were tracked and monitored in a whole variety of ways. The legal paper trail was just the beginning of a mountain of bureaucratic crap.

It was all strongly enforced.

Assuming the angry old dude had owned Sans long enough to bother, he had certainly filed his side of the transfer paperwork already. He could get some of the registration fee back, and having been around stingy old men like him before, I was certain that would have inspired him to act.

If he hadn’t owned Sans long enough to bother, then Sans was still registered to the person who had him before the old guy I met.

The further you went back in the transfer paperwork, the more likely it became that someone had either not registered Sans while the person before them had transferred their ownership.

It was pretty likely that Sans appeared as “unowned” in the system, and since he wasn’t with a dealer or auction house it wouldn’t be surprising if he was listed as “missing.”

Depending on how long he had been “missing,” officers could be looking for him.

It wouldn’t be hard. The collars included GPS tracking.

If they found him when Sans happened to be alone, and if he wasn’t able to convince them that he had a human owner …

He could be marked as a runaway monster.

A rogue.

It meant he could die.

I circled “Register Sans” a bunch of times and put stars around it for good measure. As soon as I had my work schedule figured out I would get Sans registered.

I told myself it didn’t mean anything.

It was just my name on a few legal documents.

It didn’t mean anything.

---

My absolute favorite part of every Sunday was never written on my list, but was always on my plan.

Sleep the fuck in.

So why was I awake at … six-oh-three with my muscles aching and my joints stiff?

I groaned and put my hands over my eyes.

“Why?” I whined at my ceiling. “Why can’t you let me sleep?” I tried to ignore how my voice twitched up in a desperate whimper.

I felt like I had been run over by a train.

Twice.

Maybe once more. Just to be real sure I felt it.

I groaned again as I rolled over to grab my bag and fumbled out a bottle of painkillers. I tossed a couple back and dry swallowed while reaching for my water bottle.

Once I washed the pills down I turned on my light, wincing at the sudden brightness.

I looked at my list.

Find employment. I could start on that immediately, and it would only take me an hour or two. I could do that before breakfast.

I grabbed my calendar and began calling my usual job sites, figuring out who needed me this week.

As I filled out my schedule I considered working next Sunday.

I decided against it.

My Sundays were sacred. I wasn’t going to give them up.

I thought of my dwindling savings and cringed a little.

I wasn’t giving them up yet, at least.

I could rework my budget and get it balanced again. Things would be tight for a little while as I adjusted, but I could do it.

My outdoor jobs were drying up as it got closer to Halloween. The apple orchard still needed laborers, especially now that a lot of the migrant workers had moved further south. It made it more difficult to find day labor, but I had pretty solid indoor jobs this year, so I wasn’t too concerned.

It was a little after eight when I finally emerged from my room, humming a victory theme.

Quest “Find employment” completed. Obtain 100XP.

I looked up from my phone as I entered the kitchen, only to stop just short of the threshold.

Sans was asleep on the couch.

I had never seen the skeleton so … at ease.

He was always tense. On edge. Like he was trying to focus on everything around him all at once.

Like he had to always be on guard. Even while asleep.

Maybe especially while he slept.

He had to be ready in case something happened.

I knew the feeling.

But right now his expression was softer, less strained.

Relaxed.

Real.

He looked like he belonged there.

He gave a small snort in his sleep as he rolled over, and I found myself having to stifle a laugh. Somehow that noise was both adorable and hilarious. It broke the trance I had fallen under as I stared at him.

I laughed quietly as I made my way into the kitchen.

I did my best to be quiet as I dug out a slice of pasta and reheated it.

Sans seemed to be out cold, but I didn’t want to wake him if I could help it.

The skeleton did not like me. It wasn’t exactly comfortable sharing all my time with someone who radiated anger. He spent most of his day glaring daggers at the back of my head, all black sockets and hatred.

If looks could kill, I would be a skeleton by now. That’s how dead I would be.

The empty sockets wouldn’t bother me so much if I knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose. Because sometimes, like when we went to Solar’s and he was talking with Grillby, I saw those bright white pupils.

His face was downright mesmerizing when he had those lights in his eyes. He seemed so much more … real. Tangible.

Emotive.

The lack of them was a warning.

The arched back and flattened ears of a cat.

The flared hood and angry hiss of a cobra.

The bright colors of a poison dart frog.

“Don’t mess with me or you’re going to have a bad time.”

It felt like I was always walking on a tightrope.

I didn’t, couldn’t blame him. His entire race had been screwed over by humans at least twice now.

We didn’t keep records about their being literal monsters trapped inside the mountain. I didn’t trust that we kept records about what happened before we imprisoned an entire people underground.

I had no idea if humans had done anything else to monsters.

Even if we hadn’t, none of that truly mattered. There was plenty humans had done since the Barrier fell that monsters had every right to be angry about.

I talked about believing in monster rights. I spoke out against monster slavery.

I was a hypocrite.

I had a slave.

If someone like me could own another person … What did that say about the rest of humanity?

I wasn’t surprised Sans hated me.

I kind of did too.

Distracted by my thoughts, I had autopiloted my breakfast. Opening the microwave to stir at the unevenly heated lasagna and putting it back in for another minute. A comforting, normal routine while I thought about things.

Sans and I spoke, but it was never deep. My sleep-deprived ramblings about intent aside, we talked about my plans for the day. Or I would say “goodnight” in his general direction every night.

I didn’t think I should count myself yelling into a Sans-shaped void as “talking.” It certainly wasn’t a conversation.

We spoke in cordial, necessary communication. There was no familiarity or warmth to it.

I threw jokes at him, and occasionally I got a sad little half-chuckle.

It was like talking to a rock.

I wondered if that was how my mother felt when she talked to me about my siblings.

… Probably not. The woman had the social awareness of a preying mantis. Everything was about her, always, and if it wasn’t she was liable to bite your head off.

Sometimes only figuratively.

I popped the microwave door open right before the timer ran out and took my breakfast. I glanced at Sans once more and smiled, feeling a warm pang in my chest. I was glad he looked so relaxed.

I wanted to give him more.

I sighed and wandered back to my bedroom.

If I wanted to make Sans safe, I needed to register him as ‘belonging’ to me.

Personal comfort be damned, I was going to protect the skeleton.

I got comfortable on my bed and opened my laptop. The pit of guilt in my stomach was gone, replaced with the warmth of a goal and determination to see it through.

The website for Monster Slave Registration was bland to the point of impressive. For a government website it was surprisingly bare.

I clicked the “Register a Monster” link, and took a bite of lasagna as it loaded.

The page opened up to a fillable form requesting my information. I filled in my name, address, email … all standard identification stuff. Double check that I’m on a .gov website and click “Next.”

Verify my information. “Next.”

Now I needed Sans’ information.

There were two options, either put in the information manually or search by identification number.

I grabbed the mass of disorganized paperwork from my bag and looked at the top page, the transfer paperwork from the old man to me.

Sans’ identification number was printed right there at the top.

UDSK-ST-001S

I typed in the number and clicked “Search.”

“Is this your monster?”

And there he was. A photo that was an eerie mixture of school portrait and mugshot, rictus grin and void-black eyes.

I clicked “Yes” without reading further. I didn’t need to know Sans’ history and I felt bad prying. I doubted there were many skeletons that looked like the one asleep on my couch.

The page loaded again and I typed in my payment information for the registration fee. It was cheaper than adopting an old dog from the shelter.

“I agree. Next.” Click.

And … that was it.

I was now the registered owner of my own skeleton monster.

Wouldn’t mama be proud?

My breakfast of lasagna wasn’t sitting right in my stomach anymore, and the lingering smell of tomato and basil was slightly nauseating.

The page reloaded to give me a confirmation number. I sent the receipt to my email and scrolled down the page, skimming the information and double checking what I had submitted. It was too late to retract it, but it would be better to fix it now than in a couple of weeks when I got physical documentation.

There was a link at the bottom of the page.

“Next Steps!”

I clicked and waited for the page to load.

Human Protection Device and SOUL Calibration

Your Monster’s Human Protection Device (HPD) will need to be calibrated to your SOUL as soon as possible. The easiest way to do this is by inserting a drop of blood into the collection port on the HPD. Please contact of the manufacturer of your Monster’s HPD to learn where this port is and how to give a small blood sample.

If you require assistance, please visit any of the following locations …

That was … concerning.

I didn’t want my blood anywhere near Sans, let alone “calibrate the HPD to my SOUL.”

Why was SOUL written like that, anyway?

I frowned as I continued reading, looking for loopholes.

I quickly realized that this was a definite requirement.

If I didn’t calibrate the collar to my SOUL, then anyone could give Sans a command and I wouldn’t be able to override it. The magic wouldn’t recognize me as more important.

And SOUL calibration was yet another way monsters were tracked.

Every time the calibration was changed or updated the collar sent a ping to some government server that recorded it, marking that monster as owned.

If I delayed, or if I didn’t keep the collar attuned by feeding it a drop of blood every six months, Sans could, again, be listed as missing.

And there was a thin, pale line between missing, runaway, and rogue.

Between being in danger and being a danger.

I had known there was a kill switch on the “human protection devices.” The addition had been controversial.

Bigots had shouted the protestors down, claiming it was too dangerous to not have a remote kill switch.

“There must be a way to stop a renegade monster!”

Protestors hadn’t been able to stop the addition of the kill switch, but we had been able to make the usage extremely limited. There was supposed to be a whole legal process to allowing the switch to be used.

As I read I realized that those legal limits had been legislated into meaninglessness. Worth less than the paper they were written on.

Any monster could, at any time, be executed.

Their only protection was their human caring enough to keep the collar attuned.

It was thin, fragile armor.

Every time I thought “it can’t get any worse … ” the world threw another brick at my face.

Honestly I should have known better.

Powerful humans pushed for control. It was what they wanted, what they needed. It wasn’t enough to simply control the actions of another being. To monitor their every move and control the very words they spoke.

Some needed to be able to kill any monster at any time for any reason.

They got their wish.

I swallowed hard, pushing my anger back down along with my nausea.

I read through the list of locations and found one that was close to Abby’s café.

I scribbled down my plan. Solar’s and the pawn shop were out, but I could get everything else done.

I shoved the paperwork back into my shoulder bag and got up to get dressed.

---

“Hey Sans, I hate to – oh!”

Sans was awake and tying his shoes when I left my bedroom. I hadn’t had a chance to tell him we had errands to run.

I spoke without thinking.

“Going somewhere?”

I resisted the urge to smack myself in the face. What kind of question was that?

“I mean … Glad to see you up? I wanted to let you sleep, but there’s something we need to take care of.”

The skeleton gave a shrug and a nod, then stood and watched as I slipped into my own shoes.

I didn’t want to talk about registering him as ‘mine’ or what I’d discovered about the collars and SOUL Calibration. He probably already knew about the latter, anyway.

But I didn’t want to drag him to some government building just to flaunt my ownership of him in front of him.

“So this morning I got you registered under my name,” I said, trying to sound as casual as possible about the situation. I felt like I’d eaten a knife. “I didn’t know about having to get the collar calibrated to my SOUL. I assume you know about that?”

As soon as I mentioned the collar Sans’ demeanor darkened. He gave a silent nod to my question.

“Great. Here’s my plan,” I said, offering him the paper. “We stop at my sister’s café for some food. Then we go do the calibration thing. After that you can come back here and chill while I take care of my weekly shopping.”

He stared at me, expression unreadable. Emotions I couldn’t name flickered across his face in rapid fire succession.

He ended on a mixture between confused, surprised, and … annoyed.

“So you’re willing to leave me alone now that you’ve … ?”

I blinked at him, shocked at the accusation in his voice.

I frowned.

I wasn’t concerned about leaving him alone in my apartment anymore. At least, not for the hour or two it would take me to buy groceries. It wasn’t because I owned him now, either.

He didn’t like me, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would destroy my stuff for no reason.

His sort of revenge was eating everything but half a cookie.

“No,” I said. “It isn’t about that. I wanted to give you a chance to relax. It just happened to be that the day I can give you that chance is also the first day I’ve had a chance to do any of this shit.”

I sighed, “I trust you to not get into trouble for two hours. There aren’t enough old men in my apartment to cause a brawl, and it’s only a grocery run.”

He held the paper out to me and I took it and shoved it in my back pocket as I stood up. “I also planned on stopping at the thrift shop and getting you some clothes. What do you like to wear?”

For some reason I had assumed he didn’t care about what he wore, and I had planned on buying him some t-shirts and athletic pants. Maybe a winter coat since his own jacket was so threadbare.

Sans didn’t answer, so I shrugged and turned to open the door. “Well, if you don’t mind coming on my grocery run with me, we can stop at the thrift shop and you can choose some stuff. Sound good?”

I turned back toward him with a smile, which he responded to with a shrug.

“All right then, let’s go!” I said as I waved him through the door.

I didn’t look at his expression as he passed me.

---