The next morning Bubba wakes up bright and early like always, but this time after he puts on his grandmother face and gingham apron he goes straight to your room. Now that you’re here to stay, he wants to spend as much time with you as possible - partially because it minimizes the likelihood of you escaping, but mostly because he just wants to. He pokes his head slowly into your room and greets you with a series of soft, motherly squawks and squeals, hoping that you’re feeling happier than you were last night. “Good morning again! Did you sleep good?”
"Hi Bubba," you greet him in return as he shuffles towards you. Delighted once again by your nice words, he unties you from the bed and picks you up like always to hold you in his arms with your back tight against his front - though not too tight. He’s still trying to make sure you’re not scared of him hurting you. He’s getting quite used to this ritual - it’s like carrying Grandpa except even better - so he’s a bit disappointed when you request to walk downstairs on your own instead of being carried. But he lets go of you anyway, setting your feet gently on the ground and taking the end of the leash instead.
“It’s time to do chores now!” he says pleasantly, and though you don’t say anything back you give him a smile and nod. He’s pleased that you’re apparently feeling happy again, and you follow him downstairs and out the back door to refill the generator. When you both reach it he pauses to think for a moment... Drayton was quite clear about keeping a tight hold on you at all times, but he needs both hands freed up to accomplish this chore. Eventually he decides to try tying his end of your leash around his own wrist, and it works out perfectly. Once the generator is refilled with plenty of gas to keep the lights on, the water running, and the fridge and freezers nice and cold, Bubba leads you back inside to the kitchen.
“Now it’s time to bring Grandpa his breakfast,” he explains as he fetches the dishes and food. “I feed him breakfast and lunch every day, because I’m a good boy and Drayton says I’m the very best at helping him.” This is a great point of pride for him, as he doesn’t realize that Drayton really only said that to convince him to do it without complaint - though he loves Grandpa so much he would do it regardless. He gets some leftover biscuits from yesterday's breakfast, then pulls a mason jar of blood out of the fridge and the syringe to make getting it down Grandpa’s throat a little bit easier. He leads you to the bathroom for the tube and the jar of slippery stuff that helps Grandpa pee, and while it’s unfortunate that you’ll be present for that chore, Bubba can’t think of any way to avoid it without tying you back in your bed and he really doesn’t want to do that. Hopefully you’ll just turn around like he does for you when you’re using the bucket. You both go back upstairs and into his grandparents room, and he’s ecstatic when you say to Grandpa:
“Hello, sir.” Your tone of voice is very respectful, and Bubba adds this to the growing list in his head of all the evidence that you’re a nice, special girl. “Is this your grandma?" you ask next, turning to look at her, and Bubba nods proudly as he sets his tray down on the floor next to one of Nubbins’s foxes. He thinks for another moment, but the solution to keeping you captive comes quicker this time than it did at the generator: he ties you to the doorknob and makes quick little waving gestures at you with his arms as he grunts, trying to encourage you to turn around to give Grandpa some privacy. You don’t respond besides looking very confused, so eventually he resorts to just grasping your shoulders and turning you around so that you’re facing the wall rather than the room. He then fetches the metal bucket for Grandpa to use, gives him several soft kisses and pats on his head, and then kneels down on the floor in front of him.
“Good morning, Grandpa, I love you. Are you feeling good today? Did you sleep well?” Grandpa doesn’t respond - he hasn’t for several years at this point - but Bubba is hopeful that he can understand anyway. “It’s time to go pee,” he says kindly as he unzips the old mans trousers. Sometimes Bubba wonders if his own dick will look the same way when he’s one-hundred-and-eight years old... and even though he loves his Grandpa, he can’t help but hope that it won’t - especially if it doesn’t pee right anymore. He picks up the thin, flexible tube and smears it with the slippery stuff, then carefully inserts it into the tip of that shriveled old dick. He’s exquisitely gentle in this task because he tried it on himself once just out of curiosity, and it didn’t feel good and he didn’t get far. Urine immediately flows into the bucket, and once it stops Bubba slowly removes the tube and tucks Grandpa gently back into his trousers again. He scoots the bucket aside, then glances back at you to make sure you’re not looking... and fortunately you’re still facing the wall. He then begins breaking off little pieces of biscuit and soaking them in blood, then waits with the utmost patience while Grandpa chews and swallows. It always takes a long time, but Bubba doesn’t mind. He loves his Grandpa, and he loves the time they spend together no matter what they’re doing. When the biscuits are gone Bubba loads the syringe with the remaining blood, then slowly pushes the plunger while Grandpa eagerly sucks.
Once the feeding is done he gives Grandpa several more gentle kisses and pats, then does the same for Grandma before picking up the tray and bucket and walking back over to you. He ties your leash around his wrist again, then leads you back out of the room and down the stairs once more. He dumps the bucket down the toilet and wipes the tube and his hands on a towel, then leads you to the kitchen - it’s time for your own breakfast next, and he hopes you’ll eat some biscuits like you did yesterday. Drayton’s just finishing up frying some eggs, and he looks up from his pan as you enter the kitchen.
"How's your grandpa this morning?" he asks.
“He’s good, he ate and drank and peed lots and I gave him lots of kisses.”
“Good. How's your new pet? Glad to see you haven't let her escape already… if I had a dollar for every time you lost track of that chicken I could close up shop and retire yesterday." Drayton says.
"I'm right here, you know. I have a name." you say, and while Bubba feels nervous about your annoyed tone of voice he’s eager to learn what your name is. He’s certain that it’ll be pretty, just like the rest of you.
“Well pardon me, Miss. What was it again, young lady?" Drayton chuckles.
You tell him, and Bubba’s suspicion that it’s a lovely name is confirmed. Talking in the same way as everyone else is hard - practically impossible - for him, but he attempts it anyway, trying to get his brain and mouth to copy what you just said… and he’s almost, sort-of successful. But even though it’s not quite right, you’re still looking at him nicely and it makes him feel proud and shy all at once.
Once again you decline the bacon, but this time you eat some eggs and Bubba is absolutely ecstatic. He could sit here and feed you biscuits and eggs for hours, but eventually you say you’re full so he’ll have to wait till lunch to feed you some more. Once breakfast is done and Drayton’s gone to open the gas station, you follow Bubba around while he cleans up the kitchen, then into the living room. It’s time to change out of his morning face and into his daytime one, because he’s got some meat to butcher. But when you both enter the room he’s confronted with yet another tricky and anxiety-inducing situation: how on earth is he going to change faces without you seeing? He can’t help but whimper nervously as he tries to figure out what to do, involuntarily figidting and just one step away from tapping the sides of his head like when he gets especially agitated. Taking you all the way upstairs to tie you back to the bed will take so long, but he’s too afraid to just tie you to the doorknob or any other piece of furniture in here because how does he know for sure that you won’t just turn around and look anyway? That thought is mortifying and he fidgets even more frantically, wide eyes scanning the room for any possible solution... and at last his gaze lands on a strip of fabric on the worktable and a lightbulb clicks on in his mind: he and Nubbins blindfolded one another when they played pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey at their birthday parties when they were little, and sometimes even Grandma and Drayton would join in. It just might work now, so he picks up that strip of fabric and reaches for your face to wrap it tightly - but not too tightly - around your head and over your eyes.
”Bubba, what are you doing? Why’d you blindfold me?” you call out as he steps away. You sound really frightened and he feels bad about it, but not bad enough to remove your blindfold before he’s got his face all in order.
”It’s okay, don’t be scared,” he tries to reassure you, then turns away and quickly pulls off his grandmother face and slips on his short-haired man face instead, then takes off his apron as well. He unties your blindfold as soon as he can, then decides to tuck it into his pocket for every time he needs to change his face in front of you. You seem to relax once you can see again, and as he leads you towards the hall he suddenly notices that you’re staring at him - particularly at his mouth - and it makes him incredibly self-conscious. His tongue runs along his lower lip quite against his will and a nervous sort of noise slips from his throat before he can stop it, and he quickly looks away. He’s never had a girl - or anyone outside the family, for that matter - stare at him with anything other than fear or disgust, and it feels weird. He likes it when you smile at him and look happy, but right now you’re outright studying him... like how he himself studied the insides of people before butchering became routine. Why are you looking at him like that? Do you like his face? He suddenly wishes he had on a nicer one that you might like better. This one is somewhat older and well-worn and rough around the edges, but that’s because he wears it for working. It’s a hard, strong face to do a hard job, and he’s not used to having someone else look at it so closely. Especially not a very pretty girl like yourself. He decides right then and there that tonight at dinner he will wear his very best, most beautiful face, and hopefully you’ll like it.
He takes you to the bathroom, then fidgets again for a moment - now he has to pee, but once again, tying you to your bed upstairs will take too long and having you in the bathroom with him is absolutely unacceptable. His brain hurts from having to think up solutions for all these tough situations. “I don’t have to go,” you say, but he shakes his head. Your bladder isn’t the problem right now, his is. Finally he looks down at the crack beneath the door and notices with no small amount of relief that it’s big enough for the rope to fit through. He lowers your leash enough to slide through the crack, then hurries inside and closes the door while keeping ahold of the rope with one hand, leaving you safely in the hall. It takes some effort to pee this way because Bubba has to keep his arm holding your leash outstretched towards the door as he awkwardly undoes his pants and aims for the toilet with one hand. Fortunately his aim is good.
“Hey, would it be alright if you let me use the bathroom, too, instead of the bucket? Please?” you request when he steps back into the hall, and he thinks for another moment before finally giving you a slightly-unsure nod. He can’t think of any good reason not to let you use the toilet instead of the bucket, just as long as he keeps ahold of you like Drayton says. “Thanks!” you beam at him, and he gives you a shy little smile in return. He almost never hears that word directed at him, and it makes him feel warm and fuzzy all over. He’ll do anything you ask if it will make you smile and say “thanks” - just as long as it won’t get him in trouble with his brother. Speaking of whom, Bubba needs to get that latest man in the meat locker all the way butchered before Drayton comes home so he leads you through the metal door - ducking slightly so he won’t hit his head - and onto the raised, slatted floor that leads to the butchering room, completely unaware that he’s leading you right to the fright of your life.