A/N
two oneshots in one day ahhhhhhhh. and this isn't even dark sbi. think ima change the booklet title to & Fluffy Oneshots because that's like 50% of the fics I've put in here
but This is. This is pure crack treated seriously.
The plan started out as wholesome brotherly bonding. And then it transformed to wilbur and tommy absolutely going for each others throats in a very *serious* and totally *legit and realistic* manner. (/j) and they attempt to make cupcakes. Which goes...great.
This fic escalates quickly. Brace yourself
:D enjoy my next MTM event submission. I do not know what happened and have never written this type of fic before so go easy on me :D
Synopsis: Cryptid Wilbur babysits human Tommy
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There was a click of a doorknob as Tommy's parents left the house, and the boy was alone.
Immediately, he was surrounded by a thick wave of silence; the type that always fills a room when all previous residents are gone. It was almost eerie, in a way, with the sudden lack of footsteps over carpeted floor and open and close of cabinet hinges. Gone were the murmuring voices; replaced by Tommy's suddenly shortened breaths.
But he wasn't scared of being alone. No, he was a big man! Being home by himself wasn't a terrifying prospect at all! In fact, Tommy decided as he slowly opened his room door, hinges squeaking with every inch, he was going to have fun while his parents were away. It wasn't often that he had the entire house to himself, including an unguarded bowl of cookies and free T.V. No time limits on what shows he wanted to watch, no snaps when he tried to jump on the couch, and, most importantly, no one to tell him no .
So, naturally, Tommy was going to take advantage of it, even if the random creaks and groans that echoed throughout the house made him flinch. Those were just old home noises, just like his parents had told him. Not monsters under his bed using the boy's newfound vulnerability to stalk him before attacking. He was fine. Perfectly safe and unharmed. And he would decidedly continue to be healthy, despite what his mind conjured.
(He was really regretting sneaking in to watch that one horror movie with his parents where the creepy girl crawled out of the screen.)
On second thought, maybe he would stay away from the TV.
Tommy sighed, ignoring the sound of his mother's car starting and backing out of the driveway, instead walking over to the kitchen. The unguarded cookie jar sat precariously close to the edge of the counter, freshly baked chocolate chip pastries tauntingly piled to the top.
The boy smiled, standing on his tiptoes and reaching up to grab the sides of the glass, fingers nearly slipping and dropping it. His arms shook as he carefully lowered it down, hugging it close to his chest partly in victory and partly in fear of dropping it.
Already, his genius plan was going perfectly. Now, he could eat all the cookies he wanted and his parents couldn't stop him! Honestly, he was disappointed that his family hadn't decided to leave him home alone before now. He was missing out on so much!
He laughed to himself as he made his way to the living room, arms still wrapped tightly around the cookies. Floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he walked, creaking an eerie tune with every step.
Tommy made a face but tried his best not to focus on it; how it sounded so alike to the creaking he'd heard in the attic.
Glass clinked as he set his treasure down onto the coffee table before stepping close to the large television screen, fumbling around behind the stand to search for a familiar shape. After a few long moments, he retrieved a Nintendo Switch from within the darkness behind the TV stand, quickly going back to the couch to sit down and boot it up. He cheerily opened up Animal Crossing and the upbeat theme replaced the sickening silence of the house.
He hummed along to the tune as he opened his save, eagerly beginning to decorate the inside of his home, the sound effects reverberating throughout the room. It had been forever since he'd been able to play; his parents had taken away the game after he'd gotten in trouble at school. And, even though he'd been banned from having it for at least another week, he couldn't let the Switch gain any more dust. He considered it a noble cause.
Tommy sighed, lying down on the couch and patting around for the cookie jar with his free hand. He, quite skillfully, took off the top and started shoveling cookies into his mouth. The plethora of crumbs around him could easily be brushed into the carpet, even if his mother probably wouldn't be very happy with it much later-
Tommy was interrupted by a sudden, distant slam.
He froze in his spot, the click of buttons coming to an abrupt halt. His breaths became abruptly difficult as his ears craned to listen, ignoring the happy theme still playing from his Switch.
'
Silence.
His eyes ticked around the room, brushing over the windows before ticking to land on the stairs.
The house was completely quiet.
Tommy swallowed, clutching the device in his hands tightly, slowly ticking down the volume.
Still, nothing.
He released a breath, turning his gaze back to the vibrant screen. Still, the volume level remained lower than before, his form a little more tense as he reached for another cookie.
The press of buttons resumed, low gibberish dialogue a familiar comfort from his momentary scare.
It was probably one of his neighbors. Or something falling from upstairs. Or some sort of horrible creature moving around in his closet-
Tommy shook his head, keeping his eyes firmly glued on the game. His mother had taught him not to scare himself like that. After all, he was only scared of it because he'd read it in a book, or one of his classmates told him it as a joking myth. It was entirely fiction; and therefore, he had no reason to be scared! Especially not when he was in such a happy mood before.
His ears were playing tricks on him; devising things to make him anxious; creating something out of nothing. All he had to do to feel better was focus on the game and stop letting his mind get carried away. It was that eas-
Another thump. This one was louder but muffled, as though it happened from outside.
Tommy paused again, arm pausing midair with a cookie still in hand. Light music reached his ears, but he was too petrified to reach down and mute it.
Another foggy wave of silence hit the room, this time accompanied by the deafening beat of the boy's heart and a slight shake of his hands.
He was fairly sure that he couldn't excuse this. One weird sound while home alone was a coincidence. Two weird sounds was an active serial killer nearby that was about to rip his head off.
There was another thump, accompanied by the screeching drag of nails against wood that made goosebumps rise across his arms.
Three weird sounds was a demon from Christian Hell.
Oh, fuck . He was screwed.
And the last thing he did would be playing Animal Crossing. Life was so cruel.
Tommy took in a startled breath, lungs aching in his abrupt state of panic. He felt rooted to his spot; completely unable to move despite his mind's best wishes, like he was cemented to the sofa, cookie falling from his hand to thump against the floor.
There was another bang. Then another. And another. All outside and distant, as though it were near the front gate.
It was quickly becoming apparent that Tommy had a choice to make.
He could stay right where he was, like the smart people in the scary movies he wasn't allowed to watch. He could simply continue ignoring the strange and likely demonic noise, playing on his Nintendo, and living his best life until his parents got murdered by whatever was outside whenever they got home.
Or he could go investigate and likely meet a gruesome fate, but his death would be serenaded by the ongoing Animal Crossing music. Which would be absolutely hilarious and bring comedic value to his final moments.
Plus, he was the biggest man ever! Whatever creature that had been summoned was nothing compared to his sheer epicness. His mother reminded him every day that he was awesome, and she was never wrong. So who was this strange entity to kill him when his loving mother said that he was such a Big Man?
Clearly, there was a superior option.
Tommy's hand shook as he slowly shifted his hand to push him up from the couch, tilting his head just far enough to the right to peer out the window. The glass reflected sunlight into his face, making him squint.
The front yard was empty. Nothing but billowing grass and freshly-planted trees, a plain white fence covering the region. Tommy's eyebrows furrowed as he looked closely at the gate, barely able to make out a dark shape resting behind it. They were small, almost as though they were crouched down, with the tips of dark wings peaking up over the top.
It was definitely not what Tommy had expected, but he still cautiously began to creep forward closer to the window.
The bumps and startling scratches had gone silent as the figure hid.
The boy's hand fumbled around briefly before he was able to grab the front door keys from the hook on the wall, still glancing outside to watch for any movement. There was a loud click as the door unlocked, Tommy twisting the handle and slowly creaking it open.
A fresh breeze of air immediately hit him in the face, the figure shifting slightly from behind their makeshift shield of white.
Before they stood up entirely and made direct eye contact with him.
The demon was surprisingly shorter than the boy had expected. He was maybe a few feet taller than Tommy, but still much shorter than his father, the massive, jet-black wings on his back the only indicator of height. His skin was shocking pale–almost translucent– and littered with cracks like pieces of porcelain.
But that wasn't the worst of it. No, that would be the two large eyes fixated on either one of their wings, each unblinking and silently peering at him. His curly brown hair blew in the wind, small, miniature wings on either side of his head acted like eyelids every time his normal eyes blinked.
The figure looked at him, all four eyes shifting to meet his. Tommy flinched back instinctively but still didn't go back in the house, still watching the demon from where they stood unnaturally still behind the fence. Until-
"Hi!" the demon said cheerily, voice ringing across the expanse easily. They grinned, white teeth stark against their pale skin. "I'm Wilbur! Your parents assigned me to be your babysitter?"
Tommy blinked.
The demon blinked back.
Oh.
Tommy took a step forward, gravel crunching beneath his feet.
"Uh- do you mind letting me in? I don't know if you've had any cryptid workers over yet, but we kinda need to be invited inside-" the creature–cryptid– said almost nervously, shifting side to side on either foot. "But this is my first time babysitting! My Dad said I was old enough!"
"I don't need babysitting," Tommy finally said, taking another step forward. The demon grinned even wider.
"Not according to the money your parents already gave me! I'm taking care of you for the next few hours to make sure you don't burn the house down n' shit-" The cryptid abruptly cut off, eyes widening as he slapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh fu- I mean, shoot. Dad said I couldn't curse on the job. Sorry, I hear humans have impressionable minds and are prone to elder influence, especially from people they are intimidated by. At least, that's what the instructional manual said-"
Tommy crossed his arms, adamantly ignoring the fact that the cryptid had received an instructional manual on human minds. "I don't need a babysitter, bitch! I'm not a child! I can take care of myself!"
"You literally came outside to investigate strange noises outside while by yourself? I don't think that's very 'wise' behavior-"
"I'm a Big Man. Fuck you, bitch."
"You are...eight?"
"No."
The cryptid tilted its head to the side, wings copying the motion. "The file said-"
"It was wrong, prick!" Tommy glared, stomping his foot. "I'm huge! I'm the manliest man alive! The biggest!"
Wilbur's face scrunched up in confusion, before holding up a finger and twisting to rifle through the satchel across his shoulder. After a long moment, he retrieved an absurdly large binder, entirely too big to have fit in the bag, almost five inches thick and stuffed full of page after page of what looked like textbook papers.
"One sec," he said, looking surprisingly concerned for a demon from Christian Hell. "I don't remember the manual ever mentioning a situation like this-"
He flipped through the binder almost aggressively, eyes narrowing with every page he read through at an inhumane speed.
"Okay, it definitely didn't say anything about this situation. So what the fu– frick– am I supposed to do when the child I'm supposed to babysit says they are a full-grown man?"
"Die."
"I don't think I'm legally allowed to traumatize a human child like that."
"I'm not a child! You're as young as me, bitch!"
Wilbur huffed, puffing out his chest. "I'm thirteen. Ancient compared to you."
"Fuck you!"
The cryptid raised its eyebrows, pride immediately crumpling like tinfoil at the insult.
"Bitch," Tommy added for extra emphasis.
The cryptid winced, immediately flipping to a new section of his textbook and scanning it rapidly. "I think I missed some section of the human children textbook. I thought human vocabularies were supposed to advance further than keywords by the time they were eight years old- or was that ten-year-olds -"
Tommy glared, taking a few more steps forward until he was only a few feet from where the cryptid stood behind the fence. He crossed his arms, giving the teen the best death glare he could muster.
"Go away. I can take care of myself."
The cryptid covered his face with his hands for a moment, looking near tears with frustration, before immediately schooling his expression back into a painfully forced smile. "I just need to look after you-"
"No."
Their grip on the binder tightened so much Tommy would've thought that it was about to snap, jaw clenching, as though their next words physically pained them. " Please just let me in. I will get in so much trouble if I'm not at least seen going inside. I promise, I won't even parent you! Please , my dad will be so pissed at me if I don't."
Tommy watched him for a long moment, debating forcing him to grovel, but seeing the already emotionally-distraught state the cryptid was already in, he decided it would be a little too mean. The boy sighed dramatically, waving his arm in the air and wrinkling his nose. " Fine . You can come inside. But if you try anything you're a bitch and I hate you."
"Do eight-year-olds usually swear this much?"
Tommy shot him a sharp look. Wilbur held up his hands in surrender.
"Sorry, you're an adult."
Tommy cheerily smiled and nodded his agreement. The fence gate clicked open as the strange cryptid stepped inside, thick instructional manual still clutched to his chest as though it were some form of emotional support.
They went inside in silence.
***
The first thing Tommy did was throw a cookie at Wilbur's head, rebounding in a perfect arc from his absurdly thick skull.
"The fuck was that for?" the cryptid startled, glancing up from where he sat at the dining room table with the instructional manual open in front of him, still looking up an explanation for Tommy's feral behavior. The eyes on his wings blinked at him almost aggressively.
"Existing," Tommy said in explanation.
Wilbur didn't bother to respond, instead pointedly turning the page of his book.
Tommy was annoyed by this. Why did babysitters have to be so abnormally boring ?
So, he did what was necessary.
He turned the volume on his Switch to the highest level possible.
He smiled in satisfaction when he saw Wilbur tense at the noise, grinning as he continued to calmly play the game, pretending he didn't notice the gaze burning a hole into the back of his head.
If the elder kid didn't like it, he would have to deal with it. After all, it was his fault for insisting that he needed to come in when Tommy was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Listening to Animal Crossing on max volume was the consequence of the prick's own actions.
There was an abrupt scratch of a chair against wood, creaking back. Tommy could feel Wilbur's eyes on him.
"Child," the cryptid said slowly. "Are you hard of hearing?"
Tommy smiled even wider. "No. What would make you think that, bitch?"
"It seems you've accidentally hit the volume switch up," the babysitter responded. "And I think both of our eardrums would benefit if you put it back."
The kid shrugged. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks though."
More silence, only broken by the sound of an almost ear-piercingly loud theme song that began to play. Tommy barely managed to bite back a laugh at the slamming of Wilbur's book, his wings shifting with irritation.
"Tommy, you absolute gremlin, please turn the goddamn volume down," the cryptid glared.
The gremlin in question rolled his eyes. "I thought you weren't supposed to swear, bitch? I'm so sad and lonely, and now you're bullying me!"
"I'm sorry, can you-"
Tommy flipped him off the elder without bothering to look, receiving an affronted gasp.
"No," he nodded happily, bopping his head along to the music.
"Tom- my ."
"Mhm?"
Wilbur paused for a moment, looking as though he was internally warring with himself. The choice all cryptids must face: whether or not to commit acts of violence against humans, or deal with a child annoying you.
"I'm not afraid to take away your Switch," he settled on.
Now that got Tommy's attention.
He slowly turned his head, making eye contact with the very irritated cryptid.
"You wouldn't fucking dare, prick," he threatened, quite intimidatingly if you asked him.
Wilbur's eyes narrowed. "I would."
"No."
"You can't just deny everything I-" the cryptid cut himself off, huffing, muttering a quick prayer to the Goddess of Death and looking at the ceiling. When he was done, silence racked the room, eerie similar to how it was before.
Wilbur looked at Tommy.
Tommy looked at Wilbur.
The child barely had a moment to brace himself before the cryptid lunged forward, claws outstretched straight for his brand-new Nintendo Switch.
***
"Want to make cupcakes?" Wilbur asked from his guarding spot by the fridge, Switch securely placed on top and far out of Tommy's reach. He leaned against the silver surface almost lazily, all four eyes trained directly on him as he watched the younger sulk, wrinkling his nose.
It seemed that within the hours he'd been at Tommy's house, he'd gone through several stages of character development and rapidly aged. Now, he was intent on being 'mature' and 'responsible' like a fucking tory.
Tommy glowered from where he sat on the counter, crossing his arms. It had been at least an hour since Wilbur had so violently attacked him, and he still hadn't said a word to him despite the elder's best efforts at coaxing conversation. He didn't speak to rich people who stole from the poor. He would save that for when he had to get an actual job.
"C'mon," Wilbur sighed, throwing one of his hands in the air. "Let's do something. I know you're bored."
Tommy said nothing.
"I know an easy recipe for cupcakes. You can even decorate them if you want!"
That got Tommy to slowly raise his head.
"And I saw you already have icing in your pantry that we can color with food coloring!" Wilbur said, encouraged by the slightest response. "Trust me, it'll be fun! And it'll give you something to do other than be angry at me!"
Tommy shrugged.
"Tommy, please . Let's do something fun."
The child smiled slightly at his evident annoyance.
"I get to eat the icing with a spoon," he proposed.
"Of cou-" Wilbur sighed in relief, before pausing. "Wait, what."
"Give me a tub of icing to eat and I'll agree. And a spoon."
Wilbur gave him a horrified look. "You'll get sick."
"I'm a Big Man. Food doesn't scare me, you coward."
For a brief moment, Wilbur looked painfully torn, eyebrows knotting together and biting the inside of his cheek. But, in the end, his desperation for Tommy to stop being mad at him seemed to win out. After all, he probably did want to be paid again.
"Fine. You can eat the icing. But don't make a mess," he relented.
"Great!" Tommy chirped, jumping off of the counter before glancing around. "What ingredients do we need?"
"Flour, sugar, uh...some baking powder–or was that baking soda? Never mind, there's probably not a difference– and salt," Wilbur nodded to himself. "Probably some shit like butter and eggs too. Where do your parents keep everything?"
"Most of that stuff's in the cabinet," Tommy shrugged. "But first, gimmie the icing."
The cryptid barely refrained from rolling his eyes, waving Tommy off but still opening the pantry door. Seconds later, an unopened can of icing was thrown at his face, which he caught easily.
"Flours at the bottom shelf, sugar the one above that, and eggs are in the fucking fridge because where else would they be," Tommy cheerily called out as Wilbur began looking through their ingredient supply. By the time the man returned–arms full of a bag of flour and sugar, a bottle of vanilla precariously on top–Tommy had already begun to shovel spoonfuls of icing into his mouth.
"Jesus Christ," Wilbur said calmly, but decided not to comment further on it. Instead, he focused on dumping the ingredients on the island counter, checking the drawers below for a mixer and lugging it onto the granite top with a grunt.
"Okay," he said to himself. "Add flour. Add sugar. Then add some other shit. That's the recipe."
Tommy raised an eyebrow, eating another spoonful of buttercream.
Wilbur opened the bag of flour, grabbing cups to measure with Tommy's waved directions. Only minimal amounts of the powder were spilled on the floor as the cryptid attempted to dump most of the bag into the mixer. Then, in quick succession, he emptied most of the bag of sugar into the bowl, nodding at his handiwork.
"I think that looks about right," Wilbur assured himself, Tommy snorting in response but not answering when the cryptid shot him a confused look. "Okay, I think we add eggs to that and mix. Do humans keep the shells in their food or not?"
Tommy shrugged, grinning.
"Okay, I'll just put the entire thing in there to be sure. Do six eggs sound like enough?"
Tommy shrugged again, half of the can of icing clutched in his hands now gone.
"Great, thanks for the help," Wilbur muttered, dropping the uncracked eggs into the bowl. He plugged in the mixer easily, squinting for a moment in concentration as he looked at the settings on the side, before gesturing to Tommy.
"Do you want to do the honors?"
Tommy, ever helpful, shrugged again and stepped forward, studying the numerous switches. He glanced at Wilbur for a second, silently asking for help, but the elder seemed just as confused as he was.
So, Tommy flipped the setting all the way to the max.
Flour immediately exploded in his face.
Both the cryptid and the boy nearly flew back, trying to dodge the wave of unmixed flour, sugar, and eggshell, but it was far too late.
The kitchen was coated, and they with it.
The whirring of the mixer echoed throughout the room as they both were entirely silent, watching as the small amount of Wilbur's concoction continued mixing in the bowl. Everywhere else around it was covered, flour coating everything in the vicinity. Tommy could even see a few bits covering the ceiling through the layer over his own face.
He grimaced, swiping the shit off of him, mourning the loss of his now-ruined can of icing before finally turning to look at Wilbur.
The cryptid looked to be in a state of shock, wings now a pristine white.
"Well," he noted, blinking rapidly. "I don't remember that happening in the recipe."
Tommy nodded stoically.
"We should probably clean up."
He swiped a steep pile of flour off of the counter in response, catching it in his hand and flicking it at Wilbur. He grinned at the teen's offended look.
"Hey, cleaning up is your problem. This was all your idea."
Wilbur glowered at him, dramatically brushing flour off of his shirt. "Fuck off, gremlin."
"No," Tommy said, throwing more flour at him.
The cryptid's eyes narrowed. "Oh, so this is what you want to do?"
Tommy smiled even wider.
Wilbur lunged for the counter, scooping up a ball of flour and chucking it straight at Tommy's face. It exploded midair, covering both him and his hair in a layer of the egg-yolk mixed cupcake batter. If that's what you could call it when it covered most of the kitchen and was 90% composed of flour.
Tommy immediately retaliated, diving to the floor to scoop more of it up, chucking it straight for the elder. The cryptid squawked in alarm, barely shielding himself with a wing before it hit him. His elbow slammed into the counter, almost making him crumble to the ground.
Tommy grinned at Wilbur and dove for the bag on the table.
Neither of them heard the flick of the front door unlocking.
Nor when Tommy's parents stepped inside.
"Bitch!" Tommy shouted gleefully, throwing the bag of flour into the air, allowing the flour to cascade around like some sort of fan and land directly onto his very confused parents.
"Hi, Tommy," his mom greeted.
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A/N
If its ended suddenly its because i wrote another 3k oneshot directly after this and got impatient lmaooo
-
Tommy: i am so wise
*strange unidentifiable noise, immediately pinpointed to be a demon*
Tommy: well shit guess i should go see what that was
-
Wilbur, trying to be professional and friendly: Hello there little child I-
Tommy: Bitch
Wilbur, immediately dropping all of his notecards, tears pouring from his eyes: im new to this please dont hurt me
Hope you guys enjoyed! I think this is the first "crack treated seriously" thing ive ever written and is definitely a sudden turn from my normal angst and dsbi but...hopefully it was good lmaooo
Make sure to check out Liz (@peachesko on Twitter), who is my partner for this event! They are seriously so talented, so make sure to give them a follow!
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As always, comments, kudos, and bookmarks are all appreciated! Have a great day <3