Work Text:
Tommy sat on the couch, his legs crossed in front of himself as he watched Micael running back and forth across the rug. His chicken plush clutched between his hands as he ran, all the while making clucking noises that came out as short clicks. He giggled to himself, his ear flapping as he bounced.
Ranboo and Tubbo were at work in their respective restaurants, which left Tommy alone to take care of Michael. He twisted the ring around his finger as he sunk deeper into the couch cushions, ignoring the twinge of pain when he pressed his wings against his back at the wrong angle.
The fireplace crackled with warmth, filling the room with a comfortable air. The wind was whipping back and forth outside and had disrupted the freshly fallen snow. Tommy had to all but wrangle Michael back inside after they had gone to play outside earlier. The poor baby piglin was drenched and shivering like a leaf but still didn’t want to go back inside.
After a warm bath and some hot chocolate, Michael was back to playing with his chicken, his hooves clicking against the floor as he ran. Tommy’s feathers were still slightly damp and he’d have to clean them better later when he had more time to try and struggle through it but watching Michael was the priority for now.
Suddenly, Michael tripped over the edge of the rug. He stumbled and fell on top of the chicken plush with a thud. Tommy nearly jumped out of his skin as he quickly slid off the couch to where Michael had fallen.
Michael seemed fine at first, his snout wrinkled in surprise as he pushed himself up. His short tail flicked back and forth and he sat there on the rug with his legs in front of himself. He almost looked offended that the rug had decided to trip him.
“Michael, are you okay?” Tommy asked, he put a hand on Michael’s head. Michael rocked his feet back and forth as he collected his chicken plush into his arms. He nodded.
“Okay, good,” Tommy said, he nodded as well, “gotta be careful bub. Those evil rugs like to trip you up if you’re not looking.”
The joke didn’t seem that well-received, Tommy admitted it was a bad attempt at humor. Michael was staring down at his chicken and he sniffled. Tommy blinked and then Michael’s eye was watering and he sniffled again. Then the piglin started to cry.
Tears rolled down his face as Michael hiccuped and sobbed. Tommy’s heart leaped to his throat and he tried to figure out what had caused him to cry.
See, Michael wasn’t a hard kid to take care of by any means, he wasn’t usually that whiny unless he was tired or didn’t feel good. Even when he fell he was strong and usually got right back up and went back to playing.
He didn’t usually cry. Not like this.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Tommy said, shushing him softly, his feathers fluffed up in surprise. Michael stood up, crashing into Tommy’s arms. The chicken was still clutched tightly in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Tommy asked, hoping the way his voice was shaking didn’t show. He rocked Michael back and forth in his arms. Michael shoved his chicken against Tommy’s chest, but the way that he was already pressed against him made it hard to see what he was trying to do.
Tommy chirped softly, clicking his tongue and wrapping his wings around Michael. Michael squeaked and pushed his chicken against Tommy harder.
Shifting slightly, Tommy was able to see the chicken plush clearer. There was a tear on one of the wings where it was barely still hanging by a thread. It must have gotten ripped when Michael fell.
“Oh, did your chicken get hurt?” Tommy asked softly, Michael nodded, he squeezed his eye shut and hiccuped.
“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” Tommy took the chicken gently from Michael’s hands, treating it carefully, “it’s okay. We can fix him.”
Michael squeaked, his eye widening.
“It’s no problem at all. I know just how to do it,” Tommy said, he swiped his thumb under Michael’s eye, wiping away the tears that still gathered, “your chicken will be all patched up in no time.”
The baby Piglin seemed to accept that, he sniffled and nodded again. Tommy moved Michael off his lap and took his hand as he stood up, his wings flared out sluggishly behind him as he almost fell again. He had to pause to get his balance, blinking spots out of his eyes.
Michael’s chicken was still gripped gently in his hand. Michael pressed himself against Tommy’s thigh as he clutched his hand.
Tommy took him to his bedroom where Tommy had an array of sewing supplies arranged haphazardly around the bedroom. He grabbed a needle and a spool of thread from his desk and helped Michael up into the nest that he had constructed on his bed. Michael pulled up one of the blankets, wrapping himself in it and pressing his nose against the fabric. He sniffled as he watched Tommy with wide eyes move around the room.
He sat down next to Michael, the chicken in his lap, and spread out the needle and thread in front of himself. Along with a pair of scissors.
“Now we gotta be careful,” Tommy warned him, “these things are sharp. They can hurt us but your Chicken is immune to it!”
Michael nodded, he pressed himself to Tommy’s side.
With Michael observing, Tommy threaded the needle and snipped it off from the spool, tying it so it wouldn’t come undone when he started sewing. With his hands shaking he stuck the needle into the fabric of the chicken’s body. Michael gasped, covering his eyes with his hands. Tommy saw him peeking between his fingers though.
Tommy chirped softly, partly to reassure Michael and partly just idle noise. He threaded the needle in and out of the fabric, securing the chicken’s wing. His own wings ached. If only fixing messed-up wings was as easy as sewing some broken threads.
The chicken plush stared up at him almost tauntingly, its beady black eyes squished into its face from many, many hugs and cuddles. Its fur was worn down and the tuft of red at the top was starting to lose its color. Its body was misshapen and flat on one side.
He and this chicken were the same and yet opposites. Worn down from years of use. Tommy had been beaten and battered, pushed to the brink and having to be hastily sewn back together. At the risk of his stuffing spilling out. Michael’s chicken was well worn from thousands of hugs, tons of comfort and love that had matted its fur and flattened its body. It had been sewn up many times and repaired countless others, but it still hung strong.
Michael’s poor chicken toy, held together by shoddy shoddy stitches and pulled apart by love. And Tommy, held together by nothing but his own pride and pulled apart over and over again by the world around him.
Tommy chewed his lower lip, shaking those thoughts out of his head lest he accidentally takes it out on the poor chicken. He struggled to tie off the end of the thread where he had finished sewing with how badly his hands shook.
Michael squealed excitedly when Tommy handed him back his newly patched-up chicken. He hugged it to his chest rubbing his face against it.
“There you go bub,” Tommy said, patting him on the head and smiling softly, “good as before.”
It wasn’t good as new and Tommy figured it was much too far worn to ever be good as new. But it was still hanging in there and what would a few more stitches hurt?
Michael took Tommy’s hand, tugging his arm and trying to get down from the nest. Tommy picked him up and set him down on the ground so he didn’t hurt himself.
Hoping that he would remember the needle and scissors in his nest later, Tommy let Michael drag him out of the room to the bathroom. Michael wiggled up onto the toilet, climbing onto the sink while Tommy watched with his hands slightly outstretched in case he fell. His feathers puffed up as Michael pulled open the mirror cabinet.
He worked out the bandages from the first aid kit and gently placed one of the bandages on his chicken’s wing. His hooves swung off the edge of the counter as he carefully placed it. His tongue stuck out between his teeth.
Afterward, he presented the chicken to Tommy, grinning excitedly.
“Yeah, he’s all better?” Tommy asked with a small smile.
Michael thought for a moment, and Tommy could practically see the gears in his head turning. Then Michael rotated his chicken so the wing was facing him before pressing his lips against the chicken’s side then pulled away, seeming proud of himself.
Tommy chuckled and patted his head again. Then, Michael extended the chicken to Tommy, his eye wide with expectation.
“A kiss to get better?” Tommy asked and Michael nodded. Tommy chuckled again, sighing fondly.
He took the chicken, giving it a small kiss on the wing before handing it back to Michael. That seemed to satisfy Michael and his doctor's needs for the night. He tried wiggling down off the counter and Tommy grabbed him before he fell and placed him on the ground.
“Bee and Boo should be getting home soon,” Tommy said, putting the first aid kit back in the cabinet, “do we wanna go take a nap before they get home.”
Michael shook his head, squeaking indignantly.
“Come on,” Tommy scooped him up in his arms, “Tommy’s tired.”
Tommy pressed his face against Michael’s cheek, blowing a raspberry and causing Michael to giggle. Michael wrapped his arms around Tommy’s neck, poking at the wrist of his wing. Tommy shivered and stopped himself from flinching.
He carried Michael into the living room, grabbing a blanket from one of the chairs. He settled down on the couch, Michael in his lap. He wrapped the blanket around Michael’s shoulders.
“Naptime,” Tommy said with a chuckle, smoothing back some of the longer furs that Michael had on his head. Michael snuffled, pressing his face against Tommy’s chest. His chicken was clenched tightly to his chest.
Tommy winced as he spread his wings so they weren’t pinned against his back. The left one drooped when he tried to move it. Its movements were sluggish and numb. Tommy let it droop against the back of the couch, sinking deeper into the cushions.
He leaned his chin on top of Michael’s head. Michael’s breaths came in shallow puffs that tickled against Tommy’s collar bone. And despite the exhaustion that weighed heavily in his bones, Tommy refused to sleep.
Ranboo or Tubbo would be home soon (probably Tubbo, he always seemed to get home first). And then Tommy could go sleep in his room for however long and he could know that if Michael needed something Tubbo would be there to watch over him.
Tommy watched the flames flicker in the fireplace, warming the room and casting dancing shadows as he listened to the sounds outside. Waiting for one of the other two to get home.