To Be at Peace with Yourself

Chapter 11: Care

Throughout the day, Goth kept an eagle eye on Palette as he went about his chores at a sluggish pace. Goth was much more hands-on in helping out, which the taller was silently thankful for.

Eventually, Palette was forced to take another dose of medicine when his skull began throbbing again, resulting in a terribly upset Goth when he couldn't hold back his look of disgust.

Once he sufficiently convinced the smaller the medicine wasn't hurting him, that it just tasted gross, the pair pulled out writing materials to work on Goth's alphabet at the table.

As the lesson wore on, Palette found his focus slowly waning. 

I can handle this... I just...  I need to... to......

"...ette? Palette?" 

He looked up to see Goth once again hugging him, worry etched on his face. Palette's hand rubbed his burning skull. 

How did I not even notice Goth move?

"Maybe I should lay down after all," Palette sighed, extricating himself from Goth's arms to stand up. He gasped as his legs wobbled and fell out from under him. Luckily, the smaller skeleton was close enough to grab him, grunting with the effort of keeping him up.

Everything spun around him in an incomprehensible blur. Taking a deep breath, the artist used Goth's support and the nearby table to pull himself upright and stagger over to the bed. 

He flopped down onto the pillow, panting as his body burned and shook from the effort. His hat had been knocked off in the process, but he was too exhausted to care.

"Sorry Goth... I just need to rest for a bit...," he apologized softly to the hovering monster, grimacing as his vision began to tunnel. 

Goth shook his skull, tears leaking from the edges of his sockets at Palette's compromised state. "Can I help?" he asked.

Palette wracked his cloudy mind, trying to think of a way the smaller would be able to help without risking injury. 

Maybe...

"A wet cloth...? That... that might help with the fever...," he breathed. 

Goth shot over to the kitchen, grabbing a washcloth and running it under the faucet. Within a minute, he returned, holding out the dripping wet fabric for Palette. 

He gratefully took the rag with an unsteady hand, placing it on his forehead and sighing at the cool sensation, "Thanks... that feels much better," he murmured, shutting his eyes.

A warm body attached itself to his right arm. Opening his sockets slightly, Goth was laying next to him, clutching the appendage to his chest with his face buried in his shoulder, trembling. 

Palette raised his left hand, gently placing it on one of Goth's own hands and murmuring, "I'll be okay... I promise. Like I said, I just... need to rest..."

Goth whined in response... whether it was a confirmation or not, Palette couldn't say as the combined warmth of his fever and Goth's body heat pulled him down into unconsciousness.

---

Palette stirred to the feeling of wetness surrounding his skull and the sound of shuffling in the distance. Turning over, he found he wasn't completely surprised by a squelch of wet fabric. 

Opening his sockets, a pile of washcloths of varying colors laid on the bed next to him, a clear stain soaking into the already soggy pillow and the slightly damp sheets.

This...? Goth must have taken every washcloth I own and soaked them in water before adding them to my forehead. 

He did have to admit he felt better... and while he still felt a bit shaky and warm, it was definitely at a more manageable level than before. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Palette's gaze caught on a single black feather on the floor by his bed. He reached over to pick it up, turning it over in his fingers.

Can Goth's healing ability work on illness as well as injuries?  It certainly seems like he tried. 

Whether it had actually worked or not was anyone's guess.

Storing away the information, the artist turned toward the noises in the kitchen. It was the only source of light in the house where a shadow was flitting back and forth across the doorway.

"Goth?" Palette called out from the darkness. The shuffling stopped and a moment later, the small skeleton's head popped around the doorway. A wide grin lit up his face as he raced across the room, practically throwing himself into Palette's lap.

"Are you okay, how are you feeling, does it still hurt, do you need more yucky stuff, I used more washcloths since it looked like one was helping, more is better, right? I also made food, I tried healing you and that didn't seem to fix it and you said good food helps you feel better faster, so-"

Palette starry eye lights dilated at the rapid-fire questions and rambling. "Woah, breathe Goth! To answer your questions...," he said, taking a second to collect himself, "yes, better, not as much, stars I hope not, and I think the washcloths did more soaking than cooling, but I appreciate the thought behind the action."

He looked to the damp clump by his pillow. 

I'll probably need a new pillow and sheets until those dry...

"Wait... you made food?" he stuttered, blanching at the implications as his heart raced in growing dread. His volume rose with his panic, "As in, you used utensils in the kitchen? Oh, stars... did you use the stove? Are you okay?!" 

He frantically scanned Goth's body, trying to remember which marks were already present and whether there were any new ones. 

There are a few smudges on his tank top, but nothing serious looking...?

"I... I'm s... sorry," the smaller stammered, shrinking out of Palette's grasp as tears welled up in his sockets, "I d... didn't use the s... stove... but I used a... a knife. I might have c... cut my finger once or t... twice... but it already healed! I'm sorry, p... please don't be m... mad... please... I'm sorry..."

Goth curled up in a ball with his face tucked into his knees, hugged himself and shivering as he cried at the end of the bed. 

Palette's soul squeezed at the sight. Pushing off the blanket covering his legs, he crawled over to the other skeleton. 

"Oh, Goth, no... I'm not mad at you," he said in a soothing tone. He grimaced as a hand on Goth's shoulder was met with a flinch, but he allowed Palette close enough to bring him into a hug, "I was only scared you might have hurt yourself. Even if you can heal yourself, cuts and burns still hurt when they happen, and that worried me.

"Even so, that doesn't make it right. I shouldn't have raised my voice like that. I'm sorry I upset you, can you forgive me?"

Goth nodded into Palette's wrinkled shirt, managing to wipe away his tears in the process and forming a shaky smile as he looked up. Placing a hand on top of the smaller's skull, the artist asked, "So, you said you made food...?"

The question successfully distracted Goth, prompting him to scramble from Palette's arms and race back into the kitchen. The taller couldn't suppress his laughter at the reaction, but was stunned into silence at the plate held triumphantly in the smaller's hands.

On the plate sat a small stack of crudely cut peanut butter and jelly sandwich triangles.

Taking one of the pieces, the artist took a bite as Goth watched on in anticipation. The edges were rough and the peanut butter and jelly weren't spread evenly, but he was able to tell a lot of feeling went into their preparation.

Swallowing the bite, Palette grinned, "It's delicious, Goth. Thank you." The small skeleton's face shined like the sun. He was so happy, which only made the other grin wider.

Though both skeletons paused at the growling sound coming from Goth's stomach.

Palette laughed as Goth blinked in confusion, "Why don't you have some of the sandwiches with me? You haven't eaten since breakfast, have you?" The skeleton shook his head, taking one of the pieces and biting into it.

The joyful expression as he savored his first culinary creation was all Palette could ask for.