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Techno pricked up an ear. He thought he’d heard-
A series of very rapid knocks issued from the front door, and Techno sighed. He climbed to his feet with a grunt, casting the sheepskin blanket to one side and laying his book on the arm of the chair. Only Ranboo knocked like a woodpecker.
There was another sharp rattle-knock, and Phil hollered from the basement, “Techno! You getting that?”
“Yeah,” he called back, stepping into the small entrance hallway. “I’m on it.” He drew the bolt and opened the door and looked up at the gangly young enderfolk hybrid who was maybe still their neighbour and maybe also his trainee. A cloud of endersprites lifted into the air upon the door opening, then slowly settled back over Ranboo’s shoulders and head.
“Hey Ranboo,” he said.
“Oh, Technoblade! Um. Hi, hey, so- hi. I was hoping you’d be home, and you are! That’s- that’s great. Is Phil- no, nevermind, you’re- look. Okay. Look. Hi.”
Techno raised his eyebrows. “Hi.” Premium, but the kid sure could ramble without getting anywhere.
“So, um, me and Tubbo are, um, we’re going to be… we’re, well you see, I, I guess we can call it a dinner date, and so we need you and Phil to look after Michael for a few days, just until our- our uh, dinner date? Is done? So. Yeah. I brought… here. All this.”
Techno blinked. Then he blinked again, as he took stock of all the stuff laying at Ranboo’s feet. And he blinked a third time as the nondescript bundle of cloth in Ranboo’s arms in fact moved and revealed itself to be a child. He had thought it was a simple blanket; woe unto him to assume, apparently.
“I'm not qualified,” he said quickly. “Sorry, Ranboo, but find someone else. I don't do… that.”
“It's- that? Oh, I mean- that's okay, of course. Mmhm. That's alright.” Ranboo’s tail wrapped around his legs. He always did that when he was nervous. “It's just, me and Tubbo don't really trust anyone else, you see? We don't trust anyone else to keep Michael safe. He's, he's a good kid, the best kid really, and he's older than he looks; the infection stunted his growth and he's really shy about his voice but Techno, I think you'll really like him, you and Phil both. But if- but if you really can't take him, that's okay, I know I sprang this on you really suddenly and all. I might, maybe, I might try Eret. Tubbo mentioned-”
“Hold on,” Techno interrupted, raising a hand between them. “You want to stick your child with the monarch? The Monarch? Bruh.” He levelled a disapproving stare at Ranboo's forehead. “Have I taught you nothing?”
Ranboo froze, and his eyes stretched wide. “Um.”
Techno snorted and pressed a few fingers into his brow. “I can't fucking believe… give me the kid, Ranboo.”
A long span away, perched on the eavestrough, one of Phil’s crows made a creaking, cackling sound that was suspiciously close to a laugh. Techno flicked an ear at it.
Ranboo warbled his Nervous and Uncertain warble, which was in fact distinct from the multitude of other endery warbles he made. “Are you… sure?”
“I can change my mind again, if you’d like,” Techno said dryly—although he couldn’t quite fight down the little grin curling up his lips.
“No! No, no. That’s- that’s great, that’s fine, thank- thank you, Techno, really. So um- one sec, just-” Ranboo cleared his throat and knelt down and deposited his kid on the front porch, and started to murmur things at him. Maybe he was giving orders, or whatever parents did when dumping their kids at strangers’ houses. Instructions? Comforting words? Would the kid even remember the comforting words once Ranboo left? Techno frowned. He was so out of touch with the cognitive levels of pre-adolescent individuals. Maybe he should just treat the kid like one of his kennel pups: old enough to train, understand reinforcement of behaviours, and communicate.
The kid… Michael? Yeah. Michael was probably better at communicating than Techno’s dogs. Probably. Maybe Phil would know.
A small, compact weight bumped into Techno’s leg. He looked down and was met with a one-eyed gaze of a piglin child. The eye looked cloudy, like it had a cataract. Where the other eye should be was a large, hollow, very empty socket. There was obvious red puffiness around the cheekbone, like an infection was still being fought off, and the skin on the kid’s right side of his face was so translucent Techno could not only see the blood vessels but he swore that was the bone structure peeking through and weirdly visible.
“Is… he alright?” Techno asked Ranboo, tilting his head as he studied the kid. He was also missing most of his outer ear on that side, and the cheek was sunken in a little. Hopefully the infection hadn’t reached the bone and the teeth. Those were important.
“He’s, um, he’s a lot better now, but it was pretty rough when we first, when we first had him, yeah. That’s what a lot of this stuff is, Techno. Medication. Actually, yeah, let me go over- um. All this. Here’s a bag with his ointments and creams and spare bandages for his legs, and…”
Techno tried to listen, he really did. But it was so much information, and the kid was staring up at him and holding onto his leg and… was it cute? Was it creepy? He couldn’t decide. It kind of was cute, the way Michael was almost lost in the giant blanket draped over his little shoulders.
“...and this bag has enough golden carrots to last him the week, make sure he gets at least one with each meal—so three times a day—and make sure to cut them up into slices—he prefers chunky rounds over diagonal slices or sticks—and other than that he can eat whatever you two eat, and I told Tubbo you wouldn’t be able to listen to all the instructions and he didn’t believe me, so-”
“No, I’m listening,” Techno said dutifully, glancing up at Ranboo.
“Uh-huh. Right. So, anyway, I wrote out everything and put this together so you can review it whenever you’d like.” Ranboo extended a bundle of roughly-bound papers, with the cover page featuring a scrawled title saying “Michael’s Care Guide” and a little scribbled picture of a tiny one-eyed piglin.
Techno grunted and took the bound papers. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. “Good idea.”
Ranboo smiled. “I know.”
Two hours later, Techno was sitting in his chair with Michael curled up into a warm little ball at his side, taking a late-morning nap. Papers and colouring sticks were strewn all over the floor at Techno’s feet. His book was open on his lap, but he was flipping through Michael’s Care Guide.
The hatch door in the back hallway opened with a quiet squeak, and swung shut a moment later. Soft padding footsteps approached the main living space, and Phil entered the room wiping his hands on a rag cloth.
“Well, that’s the sled repairs done, Techno, and- what the fuck is that?”
Techno didn’t bother looking up. “That,” he said, “is a child, Phil.”
“Right.” Phil stepped closer. “And… why…?”
Techno sighed and closed his book around the bound papers. “Because Ranboo asked,” he replied. “Said something about a dinner date. Although, now that I’m thinking about it, Phil… what kind of dinner date could last multiple days?”
Phil frowned and cocked his head to the side. Then his face dropped, and he paled. “Uh oh.”
Techno stared at him. “What do you mean, uh oh?” he hissed. “ Uh oh? You can’t just say that, Phil, what?”
“No, it’s nothing, mate. It’s… probably nothing at all. Just let me- just give me a moment.”
Techno frowned at Phil’s back as he spun on his heel and walked aimlessly into the kitchen, already writing something into his communicator. Then Techno shook his head and decided not to think about it. If it really was anything bad, Phil would tell him.
Phil popped out of the kitchen about half an hour later and announced lunch was ready. Techno nudged Michael awake, who was then clearly a little shy around Phil, but very curious about his wings—and when he was presented with a plate of food at the table, he warmed up to Phil’s presence quickly.
Techno chopped up a golden carrot, and added that to Michael’s plate before he joined the other two at the table. “Smells good,” he said.
Phil chuckled. “Nothing special,” he replied. “Sorry, Michael, if we’d known you were coming we might’ve cooked something fancy for you. Maybe you can help us later, and we can make dinner tonight something you’ll really like. How’s that sound?”
Michael nodded, his ear flopping with the movement. “Good!” he rasped, his Common heavily accented and his voice roughly squeaky.
Phil grinned widely at the kid, then at Techno. “Great! And you’ll help too, of course. Right, Techno?”
Techno sighed and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
All three of them devoured their midday meal. It was simple, as Phil had said, but it was tasty and plenty of food: some of last night’s roast venison, a couple of fried slices of bread, half of an apple each, and a mug of ale. Well, Michael got a cup of milk, because Techno wasn’t sure if he’d ever had even watered-down ale, and he remembered milk being far more palatable than anything fermented when he’d first been introduced to overworld cuisine. Either way, Michael didn’t seem to mind.
After their lunch, Michael followed them around as they did various chores around their cabins. Animals needed checking, fences needed mending, and there was a leak in one of the window casements of Phil’s place. Michael even started to ask a few questions, in his shaky and uncertain Common, and seemed to be quite proud of his role as tool-bearer during all the fixing jobs.
In the evening, when they were winding down with full bellies from the excitement of cooking up a delicious meal (and making a thorough mess of Phil’s kitchen), Techno glanced over to Michael.
“Hey,” he began, “so I noticed your hooves, they’re uh… they need a trim, kid. You wanna do that together? Mine are about long enough, too.”
Michael raised his head from the latest drawing. It resembled a moment from earlier that day, when Phil had been on the roof of the shed and some of his crows had swooped in to steal a few tools he’d been using. Techno hoped Michael didn’t remember the words Phil had spouted for a solid minute during that whole fiasco.
“Don’t wanna,” Michael grunted, his nose wrinkling. He tucked his feet underneath his body. “Feel bad.”
Techno wrinkled his nose back at the kid. “It’ll feel worse if you leave them,” he replied. “Is it the clipping you don’t like?”
Michael shook his head. “Bad feel.” Then he imitated a buzzing sound with air between his lips.
“The file?” Phil guessed. “It vibrates? Is that the bad feeling?”
Michael looked between Phil and Techno. “Vai… brae…t-? This is…?”
Techno scratched behind his neck and hummed. There were two words he knew in his dialect of Piglin that could be equivalent. He told them to Michael, whose eye immediately widened with recognition as he nodded.
“Yes,” Michael said quickly, his voice cracking just a little. “Yes, vibrate. That is bad. I don’t want it.”
“Well, why don’t you grab your tools and show them to us, mate?” Phil said. “Maybe we can figure out why it’s giving you that bad feeling.”
Michael took a moment, but eventually nodded and moved towards the spare room housing the pile of belongings Ranboo had dropped off with him.
Techno turned to Phil. “Been meaning to ask,” he said, “but what was that about earlier? Before lunch? Are Ranboo and Tubbo alright?”
Phil blinked slowly in his direction. “They’re… as alright as they can be, given the circumstances. I’ll… tell you about it, later. Okay?”
Michael trotted back into the room, a little nail clipper and rasp in hand.
“Sure. Fine.” Techno turned his attention to the kid. “Let’s see these, then.”
Michael handed them over, and hopped up onto the arm of the easychair Techno was sitting in.
Michael’s nail clippers were shaped much like Techno’s own, just smaller. It was the same model as Techno and Phil used to trim the hooves of their livestock, and looked to be in good condition. The blade edges and hinge-bolt were oiled, and the handle was wrapped in soft leather for a better grip.
When Michael handed over the rasp, however, Techno snorted.
Phil leaned over Techno’s shoulder. Michael looked up between the two of them.
“Bad?” Michael asked.
“Well, not necessarily,” Phil began.
Techno scoffed. “Glass. It’s made of glass. It’s a glass file. These feel terrible, Phil. It’s pretty bad. No wonder you don’t like nail trimming, Michael. Here. This is what you need.”
He produced his own rasp. It had diamond grit on the file face. Phil chuckled, and Techno ignored him. It was smart to keep his nail rasp on hand at all times.
“This won’t vibrate at all the same way. It might, just a little, but nothing like that glass file. Okay? You wanna give it a try?”
Michael nodded hesitantly.
Huh. Maybe Techno’s got this childcare thing down, after all.