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Apparently, most bitties don't like enclosed spaces, but it's been three days and Cross hasn't left his carrier yet. At all.
Dream is stumped, and a little upset, but both his brother and the vet — and his brother's bitty, a little tyrant by the name of Killer — had recommended he just give Cross time. Rudely and with more curse words, in Killer's case.
It made sense, Dream supposes, given what he knew of Cross from what the shelter had said. He had been kept in a laboratory, used for research, and based on some of his behaviors, likely abused by his caretaker beyond that, they said. They weren't sure who had dumped him in front of the shelter, but they had left some paperwork with his carrier — vaccination records, mostly — that identified him as Subject X.
The shelter had renamed him Cross. A new name, for a new life outside of a lab, they said.
"I didn't say enclosed spaces," Killer had said petulantly when Dream pestered him again. "I said places with no escape route ! A little carrier with the door open is fine ! If you closed it then you'd have a problem!"
Then, he proceeded show Dream exactly what kind of problem he, personally, would cause if put into a carrier with the door shut. Killer's teeth might not look all that sharp, but they feel like little needles combined with what feels like the bite strength of a rottweiler, all in one seemingly cute package.
But at least now he knows why Nightmare never bothers putting Killer in a carrier for his vet visits.
"He's still adjusting," Nightmare consoles him as he disinfects and bandages the punctures in his hand. "There's a rule for cats, I believe — three, three, three?"
"Is that some kind of code?"
"No, it's…" Nightmare frowns. "Three days, three weeks, three months, I think. The point is, he's only been here for a bit." A bit condescendingly, he adds, "And the shelter warned you about this."
Dream bats him away as his brother tries to smooth out the bandaid he's put on his hand. "I know ," he whines. "I'm just worried! Killer didn't do this!"
"Cross also didn't try to bite anyone at all," Nightmare replies with a roll of his eye. "Killer, meanwhile, had to be sedated once they caught him, and again for his first vet visit. You're comparing apples to oranges."
"I guess…" Dream sighs.
Thankfully, Nightmare drops the subject after that and leaves him alone, but not without giving strict instructions to monitor the wounds Killer made and to tell him and/or go to the doctor if they showed signs of being infected.
A proper mother hen, his brother is. Dream probably isn't too far off from one himself, though, considering how closely he's been monitoring Cross.
He knows the bitty is awake — he can see his eyes peeking out of the carrier sometimes — and that he's eating and drinking at some point, since the food Dream leaves out disappears over time, as does the water he's been dutifully refilling. He's also left out a juicebox — with the straw inserted already, so Cross wouldn't have trouble with that — but it's just as full as the day he put it next to the open door of the carrier.
…Maybe Cross just doesn't like apple juice.
A few more days come and go with no improvement, except for his healing puncture wounds. Sometimes he thinks he hears shuffling from the carrier, but it's usually late at night or early in the morning when he's still half asleep.
It's the middle of the night when Dream finally gets a breakthrough. He isn't sleeping well himself, struggling to get past the stage of being half asleep instead of actually asleep, when a whimper startles him fully awake. At his bedside, his clock blinks two in the morning as he sits up. He turns on the bedside lamp with a yawn that nearly covers the next whimper.
It's definitely Cross, but he's not quite sure how to approach this.
"Cross?" Dream calls softly, making to get out of bed. In response, the carrier is jumps backwards, the door nearly slamming shut — did Cross throw himself at the back of it to get away?
"Ah, okay, I'll… um, I'll stay here," Dream says quickly, pulling his blanket back up against the chill of his room. There's no more movement from the carrier, but he thinks he can see Cross's red and white eyes near the back. "Did you have a nightmare?"
There's no answer at first, and Dream is almost prepared to just try to go back to sleep, until a small voice whimpers, "Yes."
"I'm sorry," he replies, gently as possible. He doesn't want to spook Cross, now that he's finally opening up to the point of talking. "Do you want to talk about it? It always helps me to talk to my brother about stuff like that, just to get it out of my head."
Cross is silent for a few minutes, but Dream does his best to be patient. He's finally gotten something from Cross that shows he's warming up, even minutely. He doesn't want to scare him away now.
Finally, he mumbles, "It's going to stay in my head anyway, isn't it? Because it's all memories."
"Well, talking about those can be helpful too, if you want," Dream offers. "Besides, talking about dreams doesn't really get them out of your head. Would be nice, though."
There's no more sound from the carrier for another few minutes, except some shuffling and scraping that probably comes from Cross messing with the blanket inside. Dream waits again, even though he's starting to get tired now.
"I dream about the lab a lot."
It's so quiet that Dream might have missed it. He can see Cross's eyes peering at him from the darkness of the carrier. Carefully, he says, "I'm not surprised. The shelter said it was very bad."
Cross nods — or, at least, it looks like he does, since the lights of his eyes bob a little. "It was very bright. I don't like lights very much. The shelter was very bright too."
That would explain the change in behavior between the shelter and here, Dream realizes. At the shelter, Cross was demure and reserved, but squinting and a little clumsy. Here, he's still shy, but even more so, and he won't leave his carrier… "Were you very disoriented when we met?"
The answer is instantaneous: "Yes."
"I'm sorry," Dream says with a frown. "And I guess that's why you've been staying in the carrier, too?" It's the darkest place in Dream's room, after all, especially with a towel thrown over it to keep it warm.
"...Mostly." Dream waits; he can practically feel Cross warring with himself to say more. And he does. "I can't… see well in the light. I used to be able to, but not for a while."
"And it reminds you of the lab, I bet," Dream says. "Thank you for trusting me with this."
"I… it's. It's not a big deal."
"It's a lot of progress, considering you haven't left the carrier at all!" After a moment, he adds, "I thought maybe I was doing something wrong. I've never had a bitty before."
"No!" Cross's reply is quick and anxious. "No! I'm just… it's not you!"
"Cross, it's okay," Dream soothes. "I'm just glad you're opening up. What else can I do to help you out here? Oh, what if I made you a little space under my bed? It's nice and dark under there."
"...The light is bad," he agrees quietly. Then, "The other bitty scares me."
"Killer wouldn't — well, he probably would hurt a fly," Dream snorts. "But he knows he needs to be nice to you."
"He smells funny."
Dream frowns. Did bitties rely on scent, like dogs and cats? "I'll tell him to have a bath, then."
There's a small laugh from the carrier, slightly cut off as Cross catches himself. Then, quietly, he says, "I'd like a bath."
"Well, you have to leave the carrier for that!" Dream laughs. "But, sure, that can be arranged. I think we have a nightlight for the bathroom somewhere, too… That way you can see, but not hurt your eyes."
"Okay," Cross says. "...The other one should still have a bath, too, though."
"I'll see to it that he does!" Which is as good as inviting Killer to give him more puncture wounds, but he's decided that, as of five minutes ago, he'll do anything for his small new friend.
Including going to the hospital for an updated tetanus shot.