Chapter Text
Honestly, the first time it happened to Bruce (as his little cubs would later name him) was a fluke.
Bruce's species navigates between the lines of the human world and the world beyond, never really settling anywhere. They just wander and eat and sleep and repeat the same thing over and over again, they are... a kind of creature with no real purpose other than to exist.
He had been long asleep, had lain down at the roots of what had once been a tree sapling, deciding to take a nap that could last anywhere from a couple of days to whole decades. Time runs differently for creatures that have no fixed end.
When they sleep, creatures like him simply shrink, compress their whole body, all their mouths, all their eyes, their arms, their feathers and everything else, until they are able to go unnoticed.
What awakens him from his slumber is a steady thud of thumping against his shelter. In his dream, the sapling has grown into a mature tree, growing around him, until it forms a cocoon of wood that covers him on all sides. It doesn't bother him, it's dark, small and dry, quite comfortable.
Something is knocking at his shelter from outside. He lies still, but tenses, irritated by the rude and unexpected awakening, but doesn't move, maybe whatever that sound is will be over soon and he can go back to sleep.
For a while longer before the whole tree seems to shake, buckle and creak and his little shelter opens as the tree trunk hits the ground.
Finally he gets up, to see what all the fuss is about.
There is a human being next to the trunk, holding a shiny, sharp metal weapon, and in response, he decompresses.
His countless legs, eyes, ears and teeth become visible as he stretches out, while the human screams and lunges at him with the shiny thing, jabbing it into his body and causing him pain.
It-that-skin-stealer, which so far was just stretching its body harmlessly, gets angry. And it attacks the human's open mouth.
There's a bit of resistance as it pushes through its throat, but it only needs to dig a little further. There's a bit of a funny sound as bones grind and muscles tear, but soon blood, flesh and bones are gone and that's all that's left, standing on a human skin.
Is satisfied by a good meal, it will be many human years before he has to eat again.
That feels the familiar flush of images and sounds that were once skin and are now his. He quickly discards them, now that he has eaten he can take the opportunity to move to a new place.
He is about to discard this skin (after all, he has no use for it) when one of the remaining images catches his eye.
It is the image of a human hatchling, accompanied by what he knows is its sound of nonconformity. Humans call it "crying."
That-skin-stealer doesn't abandon the skin, but scrolls through the images and sounds of the hatchling some more, and realizes that the skin it has eaten was the hatchling's guardian.
Oh.
Has eaten humans on many occasions. It's not it only food source, as it eats anything with a skin, but in general whether by chance of fate or something else, it has never eaten a human or animal or another thing that has a nest with young.
It seems that the skin was its only caretaker.
He thinks of what happens to baby birds whose parents leave the nest never to return and a twinge of discomfort makes him uneasy. If the caretaker of the human hatchling does not return by nightfall, the hatchling will get cold and hungry, and chirp to call its parents, but after a time when they do not return, it will die of cold and hunger and dry up until there is nothing left.
hmmm...
What should it do?
Look at the skin he has put on. knows he must look exactly the same as the human hatchling keeper. Surely he won't know the difference. After all, it's the way it's made to be.
How hard must it be to raise a human hatchling? At least until the hatchling is able to feed itself.
He has the memories of skin and everything skin knew how to do, now it can do. That's how his form works, if he had eaten a fox, he would know how to dig dens, by eating a human, he knows how to read, talk and write and everything the skin he is wearing knew how to do.
Picks up the weapon he was attacked with earlier and swings it quickly and efficiently at the tree trunk. Newly acquired knowledge tells him that he needs firewood to start a fire in the human house, that that was the main reason the skin had come out in the first place.
Soon he has some firewood piled up.
Thinks one last time about tossing the pelt and just walking away, and quickly dismisses it. it'll take responsibility for the calf until it can take care of itself and then it'll leave. It shouldn't be too difficult.
The skin reminds the path to the human den. it puts the firewood in the area called the shed, and then goes to look for the hatchling.
Rummages through the skin's memories to find out where he left it.
'I'll go get firewood, child' says the skin's voice, sounding angry 'you will fill the jars with water from the well, got it?'
'y-yes' says the trembling, soft voice of a human hatchling, in the age range where they are considered small children.
'yes?' the voice of the skin it is now wearing, almost screams.
'I-I mean, y-yes Mr. Cobb.'
The voice of his skin snorts with annoyance.
'if by the time I have returned, the jars are not full I...' the skin does not finish its statement, but raises its hand and the small hatchling shrinks.
Then the skin turns around, picks up the axe and goes into the forest.
That-which-steals-skin frowns, sensing that something is not right about the skin's memories. He shakes his head and shrugs, advancing to where he has left the brood with the empty water jars.
He's made good progress with the duty he was given, thinks the thing-who-steals-skin, but he hasn't finished the job. The child is soaked from head to toe, struggling with a bucket of water spanning his arms, obviously heavy and not the right tool for such a small hatchling to carry, he drags the object the meters separating the well from the jar to the side of the house and climbs onto a small stool pulling hard on the bucket to try to throw it over the edge and fill the jar with water.
He doesn't apply enough force and loses almost half of the trip, which soaks him again and spills on the ground. He hears a noise from the hatchling, which his skin memories tell him is called "sobbing."
The thing-that-steals-skin senses that there is something wrong with the sight.
It thinks and thinks, but still can't quite place what is wrong. it will leave the thinking for later.
rushes over to the shivering hatchling to get another bucket of water from the well.
The hatchling sees him and jumps up, rushes to pull the rope that ties to the bucket, obviously overexerting himself.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Cobb!" explains the hatchling quickly "I won't be long to finish the job, I promise!"
The thing-that-steals-skin looks at the half-filled jar, and realizes that's what's wrong with the sight.
It's not a job for a hatchling.
Takes the bucket of water from the trembling hands of the hatchling, in three strides is close to the jar, and effortlessly puts the water where it should go. He goes back to the well, throws the bucket to the bottom, where it fills quickly and brings it back up, repeating the process until ten buckets of water later, the jar is perfectly full.
The human hatchling shrinks more tightly with each trip that skin-stealer makes to the well. It is soaking wet and shivering, making an effort to hide the "sobs".
That-which-steals-skin stands in front of the human hatchling and stares at it.
"s-sir, please, I'm sorry..."
"you're cold" it interrupts "you're shivering so much."
The hatchling is clearly not warm enough. That-which-steal-skin knows it's the cold season before winter, the time when the leaves fall... "autumn" say the memories of her human skin.
He's not the kind of hatchling that has fur or feathers to protect him, so he can't understand why he's so bare, only wearing a flimsy shirt that's completely soaked through, equally wet shorts, and no footwear.
"n-no sir, I'm fine... I'm a man, I can take it."
Definitely not a "man" he's barely a hatchling, not long ago he should have learned to walk.
"let's go inside, it's late."
The human child waits for that-skin-stealer to take the first steps into the house and then timidly follows him. Once they are inside, he orders the child.
"go change."
The little hatchling looks surprised for a moment and then nods goes to one of the rooms to hopefully do as he has been instructed.
It-that-steals-skin uses the wood it has accumulated to light the fireplace and then the kitchen fire. It lets its skin move on its own with muscle memory. The skin knows how to make food for the smaller brood so it simply lets memory do the work. It peels potatoes and vegetables, pulls out some meat, bread and other things that the human hatchling will eat.
The human hatchling reappears shortly after with dry clothes and an inexplicably suspicious look on its face.
"sit by side the fire, you need warmth" she says and the child jumps again, but obeys, sitting on the small rug in front of the fireplace.
The pot of soup is on the stove and that-steals-skin sits waiting.
begins to scroll through the memories of the skin he is wearing, to look for the explanation for the behavior of the smaller hatchling. He can see the images of the skin taking care of the child after its progeny parents died, he can see it yelling at the hatchling not to cry, that it is "a man," he can see it hitting, screaming and neglecting the little chick who goes from an outgoing, vibrant chick to a shy, withdrawn hatchling, waiting all the while for a beating.
Just doesn't get it.
If the skin it's wearing didn't like the hatchling, why hurt it?, wouldn't it be better, to raise it properly, nurture it so it can grow fast and strong, so it can feed and care for itself faster and fly out of the nest more easily?
It seems a useless thing to make a chick unable to grow.
Soon the hatchling's food is ready. Again it seems surprised to receive such minimal care.
"t-thank you sir."
nods in response to the child, encouraging it to eat with a gesture.
The human hatchling empties the plate in a very short time. He seems to debate whether it's worth running his fingers over the dirty plate to get the tiniest scraps of food and it-that-skin-stealer simply offers another plate.
"b-but...I-I didn't earn it, sir."
He simply shrugs and offers the once again full plate to her.
"a-aren't you going to eat, sir?"
"I'm not hungry."
He won't be hungry for many years.
The human hatchling hesitates and looks at him with open suspicion, but that-which-steal-skin remains calm and collected. However, the hatchling does not refuse food and returns to feeding, though this time it is slower, without the rush of hunger.
New images of the skin come to its mind. Human hatchlings need food, shelter and interaction with other hatchlings of his species to grow healthy and gain the strength to fly from the nest. Right now, this little hatchling "Richard" remember the voice says, or "Dick" as the boy calls himself, has a home, but lacks objects of shelter and interaction with more human hatchlings. He hasn't been to "school" since the skin has had him in its care, that-skin-stealer knows he needs to get back there.
There's a twinge of thought that tells him this is more work than he imagined, but he quickly dismisses it.
He'll be fine.