#this is how fidds’ and ford’s breakup went in my head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

Superhero/villain AU - Baby Daddy Drama

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a ficlet! I’ve been busy, haven’t had time to write up ficlets. But I have a bit of a break right now, and since I won’t be posting the next chapter of Recoil until tomorrow (I decided I needed to edit it more), here’s some stuff I wrote up today. I’ve danced around Tate’s role in the Superhero/villain AU, mostly because I couldn’t figure out the circumstances behind how he comes to be. But I finally figured it out, so behold! Tate McGucket’s origin story.

(Btw, I forgot to mention, but like in most of my nonsense, Fidds is trans in this)

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“They’re down,” Stan said, walking into the living room. Ford looked up from his book.

“Good. That took a bit longer than usual.”

“Eh.” Stan joined Ford on the couch. “Thanks for letting us chill at your place for a while.”

“No problem. May I ask why, though?”

“Fidds had a baby today,” Stan said casually. Ford’s eyes widened. “Angie went to go see him and the baby, but we figured that we’d wait a couple days before the girls met their new cousin. They can be hell on wheels, after all.” Ford chuckled.

“That’s an apt descriptor of them, yes.” Stan’s cellphone dinged. He dug it out of his pocket. “Is that an update from Angie?”

“Yep.” Stan grinned at his phone. “And a picture. Aw, that’s a cute kid. Not as cute as the girls, y’know, but still. Pretty damn-” His phone chimed again. Stan’s face went slack.

“Stan?” Ford asked, after a few moments passed in silence.

“Shit,” Stan whispered. He looked up at Ford. “Ford…”

“Yes?”

“You- uh- nine months ago, you and Fidds didn’t-” Stan rubbed his face. Ford felt dread begin to build in his gut. “You guys didn’t knock boots or something, did you?”

“Wh- my sexual history is none of your concern,” Ford blustered, trying to mask his growing unease. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, I think it is right now. Fidds’ kid has twelve fingers.” A heavy weight settled in Ford’s stomach.

“Pardon?” he asked. Stan silently handed him his phone. Ford looked down at the messages Angie had sent. The first was a picture of a newborn swaddled in a white blanket, with a large nose like Fiddleford’s and thick, dark brown hair. Immediately after the picture was a text.

“Tate here has twelve fingers…” Stan’s phone chimed and buzzed as another text arrived from Angie. “Fidds won’t say who the other parent is, but I don’t need your mom’s power to figure it out. You need to talk to Ford right away.” Ford swallowed and returned Stan’s phone.

“I didn’t even realize he was expecting. He didn’t tell me.”

“Why? He told everyone else.”

“I- when we-” Ford looked away, feeling a flush beginning to creep onto his face. “I was very…emotionally vulnerable that night. Maybe he was worried about how I’d react.” Stan was silent. “As for why he won’t tell anyone outright who helped to- to conceive-”

“Seems pretty dumb, since it’s obvious,” Stan muttered.

“I assume Lute is there?”

“…Yeah.”

“He probably wants to spare Lute’s feelings.” Ford looked at Stan again. Stan rubbed his face. “I mean…”

“Okay, yeah, you and Lute used to date, which is…really awkward for all this, but Lute’s not an idiot, and Fidds knows that. Lute can figure it out. Why the hell would he keep his mouth shut when it’s this obvious?” A strange look crossed Stan’s face. “…Ford.”

“Yes?”

“When did you and Lute break up?” Stan asked in a dangerous tone.

“…Nine months ago.”

“Son of a-” Stan put his head in his hands. “Please tell me that what I’m thinking is wrong. Please tell me you didn’t rebound from my brother-in-law by sleeping with one of my other brothers-in-law.”

“If I was good at lying, I would,” Ford said softly. Stan let out a loud groan. “Look-”

“Okay, how soon after the breakup did you two sleep together?” Stan interrupted. Ford was silent. “Stanford.”

“That night.”

“That night?!” Stan whipped his head up to stare at Ford. “Holy fucking shit, really? While Lute was crying over the breakup, sitting on my couch and eating my ice cream, you were banging his older brother? Son of a bitch, Sixer, the McGuckets aren’t the only family with twiggy, big-nosed farm boys!”

“I- Fiddleford was visiting, we were reminiscing about our college days, and-” Ford looked down at his book, still open on his lap. “Even though Lute and I parted on amicable terms, I was still emotionally vulnerable. Fiddleford offered me comfort and one thing led to another and-”

“You do realize he’s gonna kill you, right?” Stan asked flatly. “The day you two broke up, you slept with his brother. And you didn’t just sleep with his brother, you got his brother pregnant!”

“I didn’t know about that last part!” Ford snapped, slamming his book shut.

“That doesn’t make the rest of it hunky-dory!” Stan shot back.

“You’re not exactly one to criticize me for who I sleep with!”

“God fucking-” Stan ran a hand through his hair, which was beginning to smoke. “You are not gonna bring me and Angie into this! We made a shitty decision, yeah, but it wasn’t half as shitty as yours!”

“You were archnemeses!”

“You slept with your ex-boyfriend’s older brother the day you broke up!” Stan thundered. He shook his head. “God, my three-year-old daughters can tell right from wrong, but I need to explain to you why what you did was bad?”

“I just- I don’t hear any of this vitriol being sent Fiddleford’s direction,” Ford stammered. He could feel himself running out of steam, guilt beginning to replace his rage.

“Two things. First, he’s not fucking here. Second, he just had a baby. I’ll wait for him to be out of the damn hospital before I yell at him.”

“How considerate,” Ford muttered. Stan’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He jabbed a finger at Ford’s chest. Ford winced. Stan was worked up enough that his powers were emerging; the jab felt like it was from a red-hot fire poker. “You’re the one that fucked up here. You couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough for the dust to settle from your breakup. You and Fidds. Lute’s not gonna be happy about this.”

“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” Ford asked. Stan scowled.

“Hell no. But it doesn’t matter. Underneath that blustery, overprotective twink exterior, Lute’s just as smart as Angie and Fidds. He’ll be able to figure it out. And he’s gonna be hurt.” Ford felt his chest ache. “He’s gonna be hurt that the ex-boyfriend he loved so much and parted on such good terms with slept with his brother. And he’s gonna be hurt that his brother – the one he’s stood up for his whole life – would sleep with his ex-boyfriend.” Ford slumped against the couch. “He’s gonna use that anger of his to hide how much this whole thing hurts him. He was so damned excited to have a new nephew to spoil, and now he knows how that nephew was made.” Stan looked away. “Lute and I might have started off rough, but we’re good now. I’m not gonna be on your side this time.” Stan stood up. “I’m gonna take the girls and head home.”

“But you just got them to nap.”

“I don’t wanna be anywhere near you when Lute comes to your door demanding answers,” Stan said. His voice was devoid of emotion. “I sure don’t want my kids around.” Stan’s phone chimed again. Stan looked down at it. His face hardened. “Yep.”

“What?” Ford asked weakly. Stan shoved his phone in his pocket.

“Lute figured it out. He’s on his way.”

“How bad-”

“Count yourself lucky that he needs Angie’s help to make tornadoes.” Stan began to head towards the room his daughters were napping in. “You might wanna invest in some scuba gear, though.”

-----

The door opened to reveal Fiddleford, dressed in baggy clothes, a towel tossed over one shoulder. Fiddleford rubbed the bags under his eyes.

“I was expectin’ you at some point,” he said tiredly. Ford swallowed.

“May- may I come in?”

“By all means.” Fiddleford stood to the side, allowing Ford to enter. Ford had visited Fiddleford’s home a few times. Each time, it had been somehow both cluttered and clean; every single one of the many pieces of machinery tucked away on some shelf or in a drawer somewhere. Now, though, it was a mess. Empty boxes for various baby-related items lined the hallway leading to the door. In the far-off living room, Ford could see baby clothes and toys scattered on the floor.

“How- how are you doing?” Ford asked softly as he stepped inside. Fiddleford closed the door behind him with a shaky laugh.

“I’ve got no clue how Stan ‘n Angie managed to deal with two at once.” A shadow fell over Fiddleford’s face. “Then again, no one in the fam’ly was just pretendin’ to be nice when they helped out with Danny ‘n Daisy.”

“What do you mean?”

“My folks are here,” Fiddleford said in a low voice. Ford’s mouth went dry. “They wanted to stop by fer a couple days to help. And…well…once word spread about Tate’s parentage…” Fiddleford trailed off. “They’re goin’ easy on me right now, ‘cause I’m still a bit vulnerable. But once I’m back to normal, I wouldn’t be surprised if my whole garden up and died, or if a freak windstorm dinged up the house.” Fiddleford sighed. “Honestly, I wish they’d be upfront about their frustration. It’d be better than this fake cheerfulness.”

“This seems rather…harsh,” Ford ventured cautiously. Fiddleford slumped against the wall, rubbing his face.

“I wonder if their reactions would be dif’rent if we weren’t a fam’ly of villains. The ‘no snitches, no traitors’ code runs deep. And I’ve betrayed Lute.” Fiddleford’s voice broke. “My own brother.”

“How is he?” Ford asked. Fiddleford shook his head.

“If I knew, I’d tell ya. Within about five minutes of seein’ Tate up close, he stormed out. Haven’t seen him since. He’s- Lute ‘n Angie are awful sim’lar. They struggle to keep their emotions under wraps, ‘specially in the heat of the moment. I get the feelin’ Lute knows he wouldn’t be able to control his powers if he spent time with me or Tate. He might be fine if I got a bit scratched up, but he wouldn’t want Tate to get caught in the crossfire.”

“It doesn’t help that Lute tends to use anger to mask his more vulnerable emotions.”

“No. It doesn’t.” Fiddleford bit his lip. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “Well, no point in delayin’ it. Come meet the lil Tater Tot.” Ford silently followed Fiddleford down the hall and into the living room. Mrs. McGucket sat in a rocking chair, holding a small bundle, while Mr. McGucket was tidying the room. Mr. McGucket looked up at the sound of footsteps. His face twisted.

“You!” he snarled, stomping over to Ford. “Get out!”

“Mr. McGucket, I just-”

“Leave! You broke my son’s heart and then broke it again! Lute’s been devastated by this.” Mr. McGucket shook his head. “Can’t believe I was naïve enough to think that Stan would be the problem of the two of ya.”

“Mr. McGucket-”

“No arguin’, boyo. Yer not welcome in this place. Not after what you’ve done.”

“Pa,” Fiddleford interjected. “This is my home. I let Stanford in. He can stay until I kick him out.” Mr. McGucket glared at Fiddleford. The venom in his expression startled Ford.

“If Lute hears-”

“Mearl,” Mrs. McGucket said, still rocking back and forth in her chair. “Stanford has a right to meet his son.”

“Th-” Ford started.

“Don’t thank me,” Mrs. McGucket said shortly. “Then I’d have to say you were welcome. And you aren’t.” Ford’s body filled with ice at her vicious tone. She got up from the chair and strode over. As she got closer, Ford could feel harsh, dry, hot wind biting where his skin was exposed. Fiddleford looked at his mother, exasperated.

“Ma. Please cut that out.”

“Hmph.” Mrs. McGucket pursed her lips into a straight line, but the wind stopped. “Hold out yer arms.” Ford did as he was told. Mrs. McGucket carefully deposited the bundle she was holding into his arms. Ford felt his heart begin to race. He carefully parted the infant’s bangs to reveal his eyes. Tate stared stoically at him, his eyes brown, rather than Fiddleford’s blue.

“Hello, Tate,” Ford croaked. Mr. and Mrs. McGucket exchanged a frustrated look before turning away and marching out of the room. Ford swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “Fiddleford, I’m sorry that your parents are-”

“We’re both to blame,” Fiddleford said. He stroked Tate’s cheek with one finger. “I refuse to let ya bear it all on yer own.” His voice was thick with emotion. Ford could only nod, unable to speak, the weight of everything that was happening finally crashing over him in full.

“He’s very- he’s very handsome,” Ford managed, still staring at Tate.

“I agree,” Fiddleford said softly. Tate yawned widely. Despite himself, Ford smiled. He held out a finger. Tate eagerly grabbed it with his hand.

His six-fingered hand. Ford had known Tate had twelve fingers like him, but actually seeing it in person was more than he could bear. He let out a choked sob.

“You all right?” Fiddleford asked. Ford shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, my ex-boyfriend flooded my house, my sister-in-law refuses to let me in her house, my twin brother is following her lead, and the relationship I built with my sister-in-law’s family is crumbling. And all of it is because of the conception and birth of my son.” Ford closed his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I hoped it wouldn’t be obvious whose he was,” Fiddleford said. “I thought I might be able to get away with no one suspecting a thing.”

“Polydactyly is dominant. There was a 50% chance he’d be like me.”

“And 50% chance he wouldn’t.”

“I just- you were really going to keep me in the dark?” Ford asked softly. “About my son? You expected to raise him as a single parent, never telling me whose he was?”

“I hadn’t planned that far ahead. All’s I planned was keepin’ it a secret from Lute fer a while. Maybe until he’d found himself a new main squeeze.”

“What if I had gotten back together with Lute? What then?”

“I…” Fiddleford looked away. “Like I said. I didn’t plan nearly as far in advance as I should have. I just wanted to keep Lute from gettin’ upset like he did.”

“No matter how long you held off telling him, he would have been upset,” Ford pointed out. Fiddleford sighed.

“Yer right.” He rubbed his forehead. “All I can hope for now is that he cools off a bit. Give the sit’ation some time, and maybe I can build up a relationship with him again.” Tate began to fuss loudly. “He’s prob’ly hungry.”

“Oh.” Ford handed Tate to Fiddleford. “I- I should probably go. I have some work to do at my mom’s place.” Fiddleford cocked his head curiously. “She was the only person willing to take me in while my house gets repaired.”

“Ah.”

“Even still, she’s pissed at me. Stan told her what happened.” Ford rubbed his forehead. “It feels a bit like it’s just me against the world right now. And rightfully so.”

“I’ve been feelin’ the same way m’self,” Fiddleford said softly. He took a hold of Ford’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry. It might take a while, but things’ll blow over soon.”

“Easy enough for you to say. Aerokinesis runs in your family,” Ford said. Fiddleford managed a small smile. On impulse, Ford leaned over to kiss Tate’s forehead. “Goodbye, Tate. I look forward to spending more time with you.” Tate stopped fussing for a moment to stare at him in shock. Fiddleford chuckled softly.

“I think he’s lookin’ forward to it, too.”