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It was an incredibly unlikely scene.
In the second floor of Tubbo’s house, an baby zombie piglin tottered on unstable piglin legs around the middle of the carpeted room. On the opposite sides of said room, Technoblade and Tommy stood there, one looking exasperated and the other looking properly pissed.
“I can’t believe this!” Tommy yelled from his side of the room, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “The one fucking day I decide to do a nice thing and this shit happens. The world has just decided to screw me over, huh?”
It was quite an predicament to be in. Tommy, catching wind that Tubbo needed an babysitter for Michael-his adopted son-decided to be the good friend that he was and take up the job.
And as that fucked up thing called fate went, Ranboo also decided to recruit Technoblade to babysit Michael.
So, yeah. He was stuck here. And Tommy was not looking forward to it.
Techno side glanced at the belligerent teen. “Well, at least you’re getting paid.” Tommy frowned.
“The fuck? No, I’m not getting paid. Are you getting paid?”
Technoblade shrugged nonchalantly, leaning on the wall. “Look, work is work. Specifically around children, I’m not going to be doing any of that for free.”
“What the fuck?! You are such a terrible friend-” Tommy then paused, and then instantly backtracked, “Actually, you know what? I want to get paid too! Why the fuck aren’t I getting paid?”
“Probably because they know I’m going to be doing most of the work” Technoblade responded. “You probably won’t even take care of it half the time.”
“Why are you calling Michael an ‘it’?”
“'It' sounds better than 'spawn from satan'” Technoblade responded instantly.
“I-okay.” Tommy seemed to give up on the topic and rubbed his forehead, visibly deflating. He could be compliant for the sake of Tubbo. “Tubbo gave me a list of how to care for him.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out an rather crumpled piece of paper. Technoblade walked over from his side to view the list beside Tommy.
“This is incredibly unnecessary.” Technoblade commented, eyeing the length of the paper. Tommy snorted.
“Yea, no kidding. Alright, here’s how it goes. Two o clock is his lunchtime, three o clock is his playtime, four is his bathtime, five is his dinnertime, six is storytime, and seven is bedtime. Also, there’s a ton of other stuff written under those times but I don’t want to read all that.”
Technoblade stared in disbelief. “What thing that size needs that much care and upkeep?” For emphasis, he gestured towards Michael, who was currently rolled in a ball on the carpet and playing with his pig-like toes.
For a moment, the two were completely silent, obviously regarding the living being they had to babysit. It was definitely more cuter than your average zombie piglin, but that didn’t take away from the fact that it was a zombie piglin. Instead of babbling, he communicated solely through nasal grunts and snorts, which made it a bit more difficult to understand him.
Aside from that, he was wearing an ridiculously oversized shirt that read with bubbly text: ‘Daddy’s boy’ (courtesy of Tubbo)
Tommy finally spoke up after their session of scrutinizing, “I don’t know about you, but that shirt is just distractingly inappropriate.”
“Tommy, why.”
Tommy threw up his hands defensively, “Look, man! I’m just saying. If you saw me walking around with an shirt that said ‘Daddy’s boy’ in bold letters, how would you feel?”
“Uh..not very surprised. You are legally still a child and Phil can be a bit much.”
Tommy frowned in offense, “I’m not a child, I am a man.”
“Having you here feels like I’m babysitting two children, except you’d be the child I’d let walk into the fire or stick a knife in a socket.” Technoblade deadpanned. Tommy’s jaw fell open in disbelief, before flying into an spiral of rage.
“YOU ARE A PRICK-Mimimimi, I’m Technoblade, mimimimi, po-tay-toes, mimimi.”
“You’re kind of proving my point.”
“YOOU FUCKKING-”
Tommy’s burst of rage was interrupted when Michael’s face suddenly crumpled, inevitably erupting into an loud cry. Both him and Technoblade winced, obviously taken aback at the vocal capacity an baby zombie piglin could have.
“Oh god, it cries,” Technoblade groaned, covering his ears with his hands.
As for, Tommy, his rage was instantly converted into panic.
“Oh fuck, it’s crying, it’s happening. This is-like-the babysitting shit we’re supposed to do!” He yelled over the din of Michael’s cries. “How much experience do you have with babies in this situation?!”
Technoblade shot an deadpan glance at him, “Tommy, I have an sword called an orphan obliterator. How much experience do you think I have?”
“Uh..a lot, but not the right kind.” Tommy groaned into his hands. “Aww, fuck, I can’t believe I have to do this with you.” He quickly darted over to Michael, assessing the child’s state.
He first tried to calm the baby down, “Hey..shh..it’s fine..oh my god, shut the fuck up..no, no, don’t cry louder, sshhh..”
“Tommy, I don’t think it’s working.” Technoblade observed, who had sat down on an longue chair beside the pair.
“Well, what am I supposed to do?”
Technoblade made an vacant gesture, “Have you considered consulting the list we were given?” Tommy blinked.
“Oh shit, right!” Materializing the list, he scanned the first line. “Food. It’s around two o clock, right? So he must be hungry.”
Technoblade nodded. “Seems so. Do you know what food to give it?”
Tommy turned to Technoblade with disgust, “Can you stop fucking calling the child an ‘it’?”
“Well, just be thankful it’s not an orphan or it would be referred to as ‘fresh meat’ God, it’s crying is so annoying”
Tommy’s face screwed in distaste “You are so fucking weird, you know that?” He was interrupted once more when Michael punctuated his words with an bawl, and he quickly resumed into his panic,
“Shit, shit, shit, here, food!” He took some gapples from his pockets and tossed them to Michael. “How much food do you want you picky bitch? What do you want from us?” He bellowed
Technoblade, who had been about half past done with the baby’s cries, snatched the list from Tommy’s hand before reporting exasperatedly, “Tommy, the list says to give it baby food.”
“Shit! Right, can you get it, Technoblade?”
“It’s not that difficult to get it yourself-” When an louder wail was met Technoblade’s words, he jumped before briskly standing and heading towards the chests. “Nevermind, I’m getting it.”
Tommy sat up Michael as Technoblade returned with the jarred baby food. “Do you know how to feed a child?” Tommy inquired, and Technoblade shrugged.
“Not really, but I assume it’s literally just putting the spoon in its mouth.” He opened up the jar and took a spoonful of the food, and with more force than necessary, shoved it into Michael’s mouth. “Like that.” He said.
Tommy snatched the spoon away from Technoblade as Michael spluttered in surprise. “No, not like that! Jesus, are you trying to choke him or something? You have to do it gently, man! Like this!” This time, Tommy did it more gently but ended up with half of the food dribbling down Michael’s mouth.
“Okay, well now it’s all over the carpet, so I’d say my strategy is more effective.” Technoblade responded, which Tommy muttered in response and wordlessly handed the spoon to him.
What the two failed to take account of was that babies ways of eating were extremely messy ones.
“Oh my god, why is it smearing the food all over its face?” Technoblade paused with the spoon halfway to Michael’s mouth to pull back in distaste.
“Baby shit, man.” Tommy responded, who was reading the list on the couch. He read an line, guffawed, and then looked up “Oh shit, Technoblade, it says here that-”
Tommy was interrupted when Michael, who had just been fed an spoonful of food, decided it was an good time to spit it out. The bits of mushed up food landed directly on Technoblade’s face, leaving him rigged in shock and disgust.
Tommy stared, wide eyed, before slowly finishing his sentence, “..Uh, it said that Michael has an tendency of spitting his food out at random intervals.”
Technoblade was silent, before slowly shaking out bits of baby food from his hands. “I never would have guessed.”
Once Michael had been fed (extremely forcefully, courtesy of Technoblade) he was placed on the couch as Technoblade reviewed the rest of the list, wiping down his face with an towel.
“I’m already drained and we only went through the first thing, I am never having a child.” He muttered, shaking his hair to get remaining bits of baby food out.
“Yea, says fucking you.” Tommy said, who was on his knees cleaning up the baby food stained carpet. The two had completely neglected an baby chair or an bib, which resulted in an good majority of the food ending up on either Michael’s clothes or the carpet. “Whoever made this fucking brand of baby food I am going to spit in their face aggressively.”
“Maybe if you didn’t almost pour the whole jar out on the carpet this wouldn’t be your problem.” Technoblade suggested.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a dickhead, it wouldn’t be a problem.” Tommy groused back.
“I fail to see how being that would’ve prevented you from spilling baby food all over the carpet.”
“Because you, are a bitch.” Tommy responded, wringing the baby food soaked towel in his hand. “You are the most massive, biggest, bitch I’ve ever seen, and if I saw you in public I would stab you and then I would laugh.”
Technoblade didn't look up, and clearly unimpressed, inquired, “Tommy, tell me, how many brain cells have you lost in the past hour?”
Technoblade pressed his hand against Tommy’s forehead to prevent him from attacking. “They said ‘playtime’ is next. I’m not entirely sure what that is, but I’m not looking forward to it.” Technoblade ran an hand through his hair. “Ugh. Cringe. We actually have to care for this?”
Tommy huffed and stepped back, seeming to have given up quickly, “Yea, I don’t want to do this as much as you do, but if we don’t, he’s probably going to start stabbin’ shit.”
“What?”
“I mean, I dunno, that’s what I’d do if I was a baby.”
Technoblade paused, before raising his eyebrows, “I’m just thankful I never had to babysit you before.”
It was about thirty minutes after they had fed Michael when Tommy said, “Oh shit, we forgot to burp him.”
Technoblade stared at Tommy, “We have to burp it? It’s such an basic human function, are we going to have to help it breathe next?”
Tommy grimaced, “I mean, if we end up suffocating it, which would be an unfortunate situation. Anyways, yeah. Tubbo says that just patting his back until he burps is how you’re supposed to do it.”
“Oh, it’s my job now, huh?” Technoblade exhaled heavily, lifting Michael into his arms. Both of them knew that Tommy was physically incapable of carrying anything over two pounds-he essentially had toothpick for arms.
Tommy watched Technoblade try to burp Michael incredulously. “Technoblade, you’re hitting his back so hard I think it counts as child abuse,”
“They didn’t specify on aggressiveness-that’s their own fault,”
Tommy winced at each aggressive slap on the back Michael was given, “I really don’t think letting out pent up aggression on an child is the best therapy tactic, Techno.”
Right after he said that, Michael successfully burped-the downside being that he also vomited some of food after burping, the contents spilling down Techno’s shirt and onto the floor.
Technoblade then turned to Tommy with the most deadpan expression in all of humankind, “Now do you see why I have pent up aggression?”
“So, what games do we play with Michael?” Technoblade inquired once Michael had properly digested his food.
“Uh..I dunno. Like the games you played as a kid. Peekabo, finger painting, all that shit.”
Technoblade took in the information. “Huh.”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“I never played those games as a kid. I usually just ran around killing animals,”
Tommy paused, looking at Technoblade in disbelief before nodding, “Alrighty, Technoblade. Well, fortunately, that’s not what the list says that he plays. He likes tag, peekaboo, uh...wrestling.”
“Wrestling.” Technoblade echoed, looking equally unimpressed and in disbelief.
“Look, I didn’t make the list. This baby just has some weird ass preferences.”
“Alright, well, I’m not here to judge. I’m just here to get paid.”
The two quickly learned they were not suited to play games with children. Tommy had an bad habit of when playing peekaboo, would be much too aggressive and terrifying when yelling ‘peekaboo!’ thus causing Michael to cry.
Soon, it seemed that Michael had quickly tired of the games, and signs of fussiness were quickly beginning to arise.
Having just calmed him down, Technoblade and Tommy were quick to try and prevent it.
“You wanna wrestle?” Tommy inquired. At those words, Michael brightened, making small snorting noises as he clapped.
However, when Tommy made an gesture saying ‘Alright, you go, Techno,’ Technoblade quickly declined.
“Tommy, please trust me when I say I will actually kill the child if I try to wrestle it.”
Tommy snorted derisively, “Why? You’re just that strong?”
Technoblade shrugged, “Not only that but I’ll probably get carried away by the voices in my head and I’ll end up accidentally crushing it’s skull or something”
“Oh, jesus, okay I’ll wrestle him.”
“I still don’t get how an literal child managed to beat you in wrestling.” Technoblade commented, pressing the ice against Tommy’s bruises.
“I SAID SHUT UP, YOU PRICK.”
Both Technoblade had Tommy had not accounted for having to change a diaper.
It was when the smell quickly became apparent that Tommy glanced at Technoblade. “Hey, don’t mean to raise any alarms, but I do believe Michael has shat himself.”
Technoblade exchanged an glance with Tommy. “Flip a coin who has to do it?”
“Alright, I choose heads.”
The coin was flipped and landed on its respective side on the floor at Technoblade’s feet.
“Alright, then it’s you, Tommy. Go change the diaper.”
“...I meant to say tails.”
“Tommy.”
“Best of three?”
“Tommy.”
“UGGGHHHHHHHHHH.”
“Holy shit, Techno, did you know his poop is a little bit pink?”
“What a terrible day to have ears.”
Bathing Michael was a challenge in itself, but what made it inherently worse was that Technoblade and Tommy had an next to no definition of ‘teamwork.’
“Here, just put the soap on-Tommy, not that much!” Technoblade exclaimed, both of them crouched in front of their makeshift tub with Michael in.
“What?” Tommy protested, the mass amount of soap dripping down his hand “This is fine!” He then proceeded rubbed Michael’s back with the unnecessary amount of soap.
Technoblade groaned into his hands, taking the rest of the soap and rubbing it on Michael’s face and behind his ears, only to be immediately interrupted when an wave of soapy water was splashed his way.
“Tommy, you’re splashing the water everywhere!” Technoblade said, raising his arm to shield the spray of water that Tommy had conjured up.
“I’m trying to wash him! Just leave me to cleansing Michael!” Tommy protested, only succeeding in splashing more water up. The soapy water entered Michael’s eyes in the process, causing an painful squeak to escape him.
In irritated retaliation, Technoblade scooped up an large handful of soapy water and shoved it directly into Tommy’s face.
Instantly, Tommy’s hands flew up to his eyes, “What the fuck?! Technoblade, my eyes! What the fuck?!” He yelled, before turning to Technoblade, eyes red rimmed and filled with determination, face dripping with water.
“Oh you’ve gone and done it, bitch,” And, using the force of his arms, brought up an wave of water onto Technoblade.
Needless to say, the bathtime finished with not an dry spot on either of them, both simultaneously screaming about how their eyes burned from the soap, and the wood floorboards underneath utterly and completely soaked.
At least Michael was clean.
Techonblade was drying off Michael with an towel, the piglin sat in his lap, while Tommy watched from the couch.
“Michael’s kind of cute isn’t he?” Tommy inquired. “I mean, when he’s not crying and shit.”
Without thinking better of it, Technoblade responded with, “To be honest, he’s thrown up on me one too many times for him to be cute.”
Tommy paused, and then the biggest shit eating smile stretched across his face “You called him a ‘he’ instead of an it!”
Technoblade visibly flushed, suddenly drying Michael with much more force than necessary, “That was an mistake,” He mumbled.
Tommy’s grin only grew more hectoring, obviously delighted at being able to tease Technoblade, “Mimimmi, that an mistake, Technosoft pog? Technosoft pog?” He clowned.
Tommy never quite knew the extent of Technoblade’s rage until he found himself facedown on the ground, bleeding out from several areas, and an baby food jar smashed over his head.
“Tommy, why is Michael running around significantly faster than two hours ago?”
“..I..I don’t know…?”
“Tommy, did you just give Michael coffee instead of milk?”
“...No. Why would I do that?”
“Tommy?”
“I’M SORRY, OKAY, THEY KIND OF LOOKED SIMILAR WHEN YOU SQUINT”
“Oh my god.”
“Children should not be legally allowed to run this fast, oh my GOD.”
The sun was barely setting, and both Technoblade and Tommy were both essentially death on two feet at that point. Technically, they did make things harder for themselves by beating each other up every other hour, but also, babysitting was difficult, okay?
It was around this time that Michael should be put to bed, so Technoblade and Tommy successfully managed to get him in pajamas, brush his teeth, and tuck him in.
“We have to read him a story? What story does he like?” Tommy inquired, thumbing through the mass amounts of books on their shelves.
Technoblade, who was sitting on a stool beside Michael’s bed, made an negative gesture, “They say not to touch those-those are going to be used an enchantment books later. They say we can just make up a story on our own.”
“What? Who the fuck do they think we are? Dr Seuss or some shit?”
Technoblade crossed his arms, “Well, do you know any stories?”
“No, I fucking don’t!”
“Well, that’s our only bet at having him fall asleep quick, so I’d highly suggest we come up with one soon.”
Tommy pondered it for a few moments before snapping his fingers. “Tubbo and I did this game once where we made a story by each of us saying one line at a time. How about we do that?”
“I’ve heard worse ideas.”
“Alright. Uh, I’ll start. There was a boy named Steve…”
Neither of the two mentioned that this would be the first time that they actively worked together on something for the first time in months.
(And if the story did end up with Steve going from being an cafe barista to divorcing his wife and then committing mass amounts of terrorism and getting lots of women and ended up dying alone, in an ditch, with nothing but an Trucker Hat on, no one needed to mention that either.)
By the time Ranboo and Tubbo came home, they found Michael sound asleep, Tommy facedown on the floor, and Technoblade lying next to him and staring at the ceiling. Both had vomit stains on their half damp shirts, one of them (tommy) has an concerning amount of bruises, and both looked absolutely dead on their feet.
“Hi!” Tubbo greeted, to which he was responded to with incoherent grunts. “Uh..I take it you guys had an eventful babysitting day?” He inquired as Ranboo hung up their jackets.
“Yea, ‘eventful’ just replace that with ‘painful’” Tommy mumbled, rising to his feet. He nudged Techno with his foot. “Hey, dickhead, they’re here.”
“Oh, thank the holy entities I don’t believe in,” Technoblade muttered back, using Tommy’s arm to help him stand back up. He noticed Ranboo and Tubbo’s gazes on him and said “Don’t ask, your child just likes to throw up at very inconvenient times.”
“You two look like you got along well,” Ranboo commented, to which both Tommy and Technoblade snorted.
“Only because we were forced to.” Tommy responded. Technoblade huffed in agreement.
“Yea, word of advice, never hire us ever again.”
Tubbo laughed, waving an hand “Don’t worry, you won’t have to ,we didn’t even need you to do it in the first place.”
Tommy paused in scratching his cheek and frowned at Tubbo, “The fuck you mean by that?” He asked, his northerner accent suddenly becoming distinctly stronger.
Ranboo chuckled, “Uh, yeah, funny story. Well, since you guys are both our friend and..well, you know, don’t get along, we thought that maybe forcing you guys to take care of a child would help the friendship process along. And well, it worked!” He said conclusively, gesturing towards the two.
Technoblade paused. “So you’re telling me you didn’t need us to babysit?”
“Nope! Michael’s actually pretty capable of taking care of himself most times.”
“And you just did this because you wanted Tommy and I to ‘get along’?”
Tubbo chuckled, now tainted with an hint of nervousness as the threatening notions in Technoblade’s voice, “Well yea, but see, look at how well it turned out!” He gestured encompassingly.
Both Tommy and Technoblade stared, completely blank-faced at both Ranboo and Tubbo, before looking at each other, nodding, and
[RANBOO was slain by TECHNOBLADE]
[TUBBO was slain by TOMMY]