Chapter Text
Technoblade wakes from hibernation on the day his two friends are intending to leave with the sole purpose of sending them off with a monotone farewell and then going back to sleep. This is why he has a room in the house, after all. To visit, to hibernate, and to store his things.
When he wakes this day, he expects it to be normal. He rises from his bed, stretching his limbs until all of his joints are back where they are supposed to be, but he does not bother changing from the clothes he slept in. There’s no real point; he’ll wish his friends farewell and then return to his bed, unbothered by the world outside until it is time for him to rise and travel once more.
He descends the stairs sluggishly, stifling a yawn as he ducks under the door frame into the front room, and then he pauses.
“Wilbur,” he starts, staring at the small, compact human in the arms of his best friend’s son.
“Techno!” Wilbur flourishes, plastering the most dazzling grin on his face- the one Technoblade knows he uses to scam people into doing what he wants. “It’s wonderful you’re awake, my friend, I have a very important favor to ask of you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You see, this lovely little thing here is Tommy. I found him about a week ago, all on his own. Truly, I’m not quite certain how he survived on his own. Anyhow, Techno, you know I have to go for a bit, what with my impending debut coming up-”
Techno does not like where this is going.
“-and, well, I can’t exactly bring an infant with me, now can I? But you see, you’ll be here, won’t you? So, if it’s not too much trouble, I was wondering if you would look after him for me. He’s so small, Technoblade, he can’t do it himself. And it would mean the world to me.”
His sleep-addled brain processes it for all of three seconds before he’s shaking his head. “No, I don’t think I will.”
Phil, who had been previously watching the exchange with barely disguised fondness, laughs quietly. “Come on, mate. We won’t be gone for too long, and Tommy’s not that hard to take care of, anyway. It’ll only be for a bit, I promise.”
“I don’t like orphans, Phil. You know that,” Techno grouches, crossing his arms rather childishly. “I don’t even know how to take care of a baby.”
“That’s why I left instructions!” Wilbur exclaims, rushing over and -rather gently- placing the baby in Techno’s crossed arms before his brain has managed to catch up. He freezes, staring down at the infant that lies snuggly in his large, folded arms. The baby stares back at him, though probably with less fear. “There’s a list on the table with all kinds of tips, and there’s enough food for him for quite some time. He’s an easy baby, Technoblade, you don’t have to worry.”
Wilbur scurries toward the door, taking advantage of Techno’s shocked silence to do so, and he grabs his guitar before ducking outside.
“Wait-” Techno tries, finally looking away from the baby, but Phil simply smiles and cuts him off.
“Don’t worry, mate. We won't be gone very long, and we’ll let you know if we get delayed. Tommy’s easy, you don’t have to stress about it.”
“Hold on now-” he tries again, but Phil is ducking out the door as well. Techno shuffles awkwardly toward the front window, watching the rapidly shrinking silhouette of his friend as Phil grabs Wilbur under his arms and takes off into the skies. The house descends into silence rather quickly, save for the nasally breathing of the infant in his arms and the incessant rambling of the voices in his head.
He slowly turns his head down to look at the baby -Tommy, Phil and Wilbur had called it- and the baby is already looking back at him. He’s sucking quietly on a pacifier, chubby legs kicking around where they’re free from the red and white onesie Wilbur has apparently put him in.
“So…” Techno trails, blinking down at Tommy as he blinks back at him. “You’ve been here for a week?”
Tommy, predictably, says nothing.
“At least you’re quiet.”
He moves into the kitchen and stares down at the list on the table written in Wilbur’s unmistakable handwriting, though there are annotations in Phil’s as well. He studies it closely, going over each tip and item as thoroughly as he can. There’s something about a high-chair and a crib, both of which he has vague memories of from Wilbur’s own infancy, and there are several tips written down beside the instructions on how to feed and put Tommy to bed.
- Tommy can support his own head, but he can’t sit up by himself yet. You’ll have to hold him a lot.
He glances down at the infant again -who is still watching him with wide blue eyes- and he sighs. At least the kid doesn’t smell bad.
As if to prove him wrong, Tommy’s little face scrunches comically and quickly turns red, and he releases what Techno will forever consider the nastiest, wettest sounding fart he’s ever heard. He has to physically stop himself from jerking his arms away and dropping the baby on the ground, and then the smell. Gods above, he has never smelled anything so rotten in his entire immortal life. It’s rancid.
Tommy giggles around his pacifier, eyes crinkling as he kicks his little legs once more.
- In terms of diaper changes...
“I hate you,” Techno hisses, scowling when Tommy giggles even more. Curse his enhanced sense of smell, curse Wilbur and Phil for leaving him here alone with this tiny, disgusting-smelling creature. “You are the bane of my existence. I’m going to kill Wilbur when he gets back. I don’t even know if he can die, but I’ll kill him anyway.”
He waits a moment for the smell to pass, hoping the infant has not shat itself, but it never does. The little bald worm reeks of excrement, and Technoblade is not having it. He skims the list again before quickly moving down the hall into Wilbur’s room where he deposits the baby on what he vaguely recognizes as the ‘changing table’. He grabs a diaper, wipes, gloves, and the cream Wilbur had written down on the list. He also plugs his nose with tissues to try and save his senses from the smell, and then he slouches over the table -and the baby- to get to work.
There’s only one problem.
Technoblade… doesn’t remember how to change a diaper.
Phil showing him how to change a diaper several times when Wilbur was a baby doesn’t mean he actually remembers how to do it, okay? How does something so small produce so much waste? Technoblade may lose his mind and abandon the kid here and now, if he’s being honest with himself. But Wilbur would be sad, probably, and Phil likely wouldn’t be happy either, and he can’t upset Phil. That’s just not the way the world works.
As though he senses Techno’s train of thought, Tommy kicks his bent legs up at him and giggles. He reaches upwards with tiny fists, making grabby hands at the ends of Techno’s long braid. Techno stares down at him unamused, and he tucks his braid down the back of his shirt so it won’t get caught in anything- unnecessary.
“Stop laughing at me,” he grumbles, scowling somehow deeper when Tommy’s shrill laughter echoes between them once again. “I’m not the one who pooped my pants, am I? You’re the one who looks dumb.”
Tommy’s giggling dies down, but he still smiles up at Technoblade around his pacifier like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He probably doesn’t, the bastard.
Technoblade breathes deeply -a mistake- and then undoes the weird little clasps of Tommy’s onesie. It can’t be that hard, can it?
-----
It not only can be that hard, but it is.
Wilbur is going to die a slow, painful death when he gets back.
Techno scrubs feverishly at his hands in the scalding water, grumbling under his breath and glancing in the mirror every now and then to make sure Tommy is still laying on the floor where he’d left him. The infant’s onesie had been lost to tiny hands smeared in shit, as had Techno’s own shirt. Now he’s stuck at the bathroom sink, scrubbing as much of himself as he can while he glares at the baby on the floor.
“You and me?” He hisses, squinting at Tommy who doesn’t pay him any mind. “We are not friends. You are my mortal enemy. If not for the fact that Phil likes you, I’d leave you outside where you belong. Filthy.”
After his hands and torso are cleaned of both genuine and phantom germs, Techno dries off and turns to stare at Tommy. The baby just blinks slowly at his ankles, rubbing at his eyes with tiny fists. It is only when Techno crouches to pick him up that Tommy seems to realize he’s there, cooing quietly and snuggling as close as he can get. Wilbur had written something about skin-to-skin contact, Techno remembers vaguely. And the soap and lotion they have for the baby actually doesn’t smell terrible, now that any foul-smelling components have been washed away from the both of them.
Techno rifles through the drawer that Wilbur labeled as Tommy’s, pulling the least complicated-looking item of clothing from inside and dropping it on the bed. He goes to put Tommy down as well, but the baby clings to his braid and whines the moment there’s a modicum of air between them.
“Don’t…” Technoblade drawls, forcing Tommy to let go of his braid and lowering him toward the bed. This is a mistake, apparently, as the baby almost immediately begins to scream, face turning red as tears begin to build in his big blue eyes.
“Stop, wait- wait, hold on. Don’t do that. Stop- stop crying,” he panics, scooping the kid back up and cradling him to his chest as best he can. He grunts quietly against his will, instincts he’s long since thought dormant making their way to the surface and trying to soothe the unhappy sounds of an infant. Tommy calms near-instantly, nuzzling his cheek against Techno and blinking his little tears away. After a minute where Tommy seems to relax, Techno slowly tries to set him down again, only to incur the same result.
He tries to put the kid down several times, failing each time Tommy is moved more than a millimeter away from him, and eventually, Techno gives up. If you were to ask him, he didn’t give up, oh no. He’s just waiting until the kid is asleep. He can’t scream if he’s sleeping.
Tommy finally falls asleep, content to dose off against Techno’s chest and none the wiser when the man hesitantly lowers him onto the bed and works him into his clothes. He puts him carefully in the crib -just as Wilbur’s instructions said- and then he leaves him there.
This will be fine. Phil never left Wilbur alone, and he doubts Wilbur will leave Tommy alone for very long. A week at most. Techno can survive a week with a baby, especially if this is all it takes. He’ll walk around shirtless if it means saving his expensive silks from the same fate as the shirt he’d worn today- or he could just buy new clothes that can actually get dirty. He’s too big to steal any of Wilbur's or Phil’s. Tommy’s clothes can be washed, so there’s nothing wrong there.
Everything is fine. In a week’s time, Wilbur and Phil will come back, Techno will kill the former, and then he’ll give them their baby and go back into hibernation. This will be fine.
---
It’s been a week, and they are not fine.
Philza: We got delayed m8, sorry.
Technoblade has been spit up on, used as a tissue and a chew toy, and he has barely slept a wink. Tommy is basically attached to him at this point: throwing a fit nearly every time he is put down. The only plus side to this is Techno can move freely, going about his day so long as he can do whatever he desires with only one arm. Were he a smaller man, he’d probably need two arms to hold the baby, but Tommy is rather tiny and Techno is decidedly not, so it works out.
That doesn’t mean he likes it. He misses autonomy, misses the freedom to sleep however long he wanted and not having to change diapers or bathe a very small human being. He can admit that the weird little baby shampoo smells nice, even if the kid’s hair is barely wisps, and he’s relatively nice to be around when he’s not screaming his head off. Techno’s whole ‘not being touched' thing is out the window now, but having to hold Tommy almost constantly isn’t as awful as it could be. At least the kid is too young to argue with him.
But he could do without the spitting up. And the diaper changing. And he would very much like to go back to hibernating, thank you. He’s got a tournament he was planning to enter, so watching a baby and missing sleep are against his plans.
Even still, they come to the end of their second week together, and all they are greeted with is another message detailing that Phil and Wilbur have once more been delayed. There’s more of an explanation this time; Wilbur’s doing way better than he’d anticipated, though Phil claims to have known his son would succeed on this scale, and he’d been asked to perform in a few of the kingdoms on whatever world they’re currently on.
Techno can’t say he’s pleased by the news. Sure, he’s happy Wilbur’s experiencing success, but he kind of had his own plans to attend to. If Wilbur wanted to take in a baby, that was his business. It shouldn’t have fallen on Techno to handle the thing in his place while he pursued his dream. This didn’t quite seem fair.
Regardless, he’s stuck here for now. Himself and a baby in a little house on the edge of the forest. He’s finally developed a routine of sorts, and Tommy mostly sleeps through the night, even if he does so in a nest of pillows on the other side of Techno’s bed instead of in his crib. You can’t really blame him- why get out of bed in the morning to handle the things Tommy needs when he can just take care of it from the comfort of his bed? Tommy’s normally pretty content to lie on his chest after his morning bottle, so Technoblade gets another hour of sleep for almost nothing.
It’s a good system. A good system that he has to keep an entire month after Wilbur and Phil have left because they’re still getting delayed. A good system that now includes reading aloud from books on mythology as well as his own firsthand accounts because Tommy only stops crying when Techno talks to him.
They get along. It should be hard to get along considering Tommy is a four months old baby and Techno is an immortal being who has never much cared for children, but they get along anyway. Tommy is content so long as he can touch or hear Techno, and Techno is content so long as he can go about his day as he pleases. They make it work.
This doesn’t mean Technoblade isn’t frustrated. He’s missed his tournament, and his wanderlust is creeping in. He never really stays anywhere for that long, hopping between the many homes he’s constructed in different places as he so chooses. Now, though, he’s stuck here against his will, waiting for Wilbur to return for the baby he’s claimed as his own.
Two weeks in, Techno was fed up. Six weeks was really pushing it for him, but by the time they reach the two-month mark, he’s had enough.
“Listen,” he tells Tommy, tying the kid to his chest with a long piece of cloth -something he definitely didn’t copy from one of the mothers in the village nearby- and beginning to pack a bag full of Tommy’s things. “You’re not that bad, I’ll give you that much. But I’ve got things to do, and looking after you was not one of those things.”
Tommy coos softly in response, half-mimicking the grunts Techno has made to soothe him and pulling on the end of the braid that Techno leaves over his shoulder for the baby to play with.
“This really doesn’t have anything to do with you,” the Blood God continues, “but I’ve got places to be, people to kill. I’m sure there’s someone in the village who can look after you until Wilbur and Phil get back.”
He leaves the house behind, locking the door and making sure everything is in place for when his friends return. He even left a dirty diaper in Wilbur’s room as a little present. He’s nice like that.
“You’re not even that hard to look after, aside from the spitting up and the pooping and- I mean, that’s kind of it. I’m sure there’s someone who will be fine with watching you for a while. I’m just not them.”
Techno enters the village nearby -the one he knows Phil and Wilbur trade in when they’re home- with the sole purpose of finding someone he can trust (or threaten) to look after the little baby currently chewing on the end of his braid. It really shouldn’t be that hard. There are plenty of mothers in the village who already have kids, and he’ll even pay them to watch the kid. It really isn’t a hard task.
No amount of Tommy being a good baby will change the fact that no one in the village will take Tommy off his hands, not when they find out his brother (father?) is supposed to come back for him. “Sorry,” they say, “I don’t want to raise a child just to have to give it up. It would hurt too much.” He doesn’t understand the problem -Wilbur is supposed to be back relatively soon, so there’s not much time to get attached- but he accepts their answers and moves on to the next house. And the next one. Until there isn’t a single house left.
The orphanage is out of the question for obvious reasons.
The ease with which he accepts their answers should probably be concerning to him, but he doesn’t stop to think about it too much. All he really considers is that he’s still stuck with this baby who looks at him like he’s his entire world, and he doesn’t really have many options left.
He could go back to the cottage and wait for Wilbur to come back, or he can bring Tommy with him and return the kid when Wilbur comes back. One is distinctly more appealing than the other. One doesn’t involve him having to take care of the soiled diaper he left in Wilbur’s room.
“So listen,” he says, watching Tommy where the infant lies in the grass in front of him. “We’re going on a trip.”
Tommy, of course, only giggles and grabs ahold of his own sock-covered foot as an answer.
“And you won’t go back to that house until Wilbur wants you back. It’s not gonna be as comfy as it was, but I expect minimal complaints from you, got it? No crying because you don’t like dirt or it’s too cold.”
The cold likely won’t be a problem, as Techno bought Tommy his own little jacket made of the same material as his cloak when he found out he wasn’t going to be rid of the kid anytime soon. The thick red jacket is lined with fur, and it came with little detachable mittens. And Tommy has never had much of a problem with dirt- in fact, Techno has had to wrestle mud out of his hands before the little rat could put it in his mouth.
All-in-all, they should be fine.
He scoops Tommy up, holding him up so they’re level and rolling his eyes when Tommy immediately grabs onto one of his tusks. “I’m changing your name, too. Tommy is a dumb name. Theseus would suit you better.”
Tommy giggles, squishing both of Techno’s cheeks between his tiny hands. “Ta,” he coos, trying and failing to grunt at him once he’s finished his babbling. “Taba.”
“Technoblade,” he corrects, a small smile tugging unconsciously at the corners of his mouth without his permission. “My name is Technoblade.”