"Frankie! FRANKIE!" Trè called to his son in the kitchen, his ears ringing after three whole hours of the baby's screaming and barely even hearing the words that left his mouth as a result. "Frankie, hurry up with the wipes!!"
"ALL WE HAVE IS CLOROX WIPES!" Frankie screamed back from the kitchen. "YOU'RE GONNA FRY HIS ASSHOLE, DAD!"
"At this point, I'll take it, Frankie!!" Trè called, worriedly glancing back and forth between the baby screaming on the coffee table and the small portion of the kitchen that he could see from where he was.
"IT'S GONNA MAKE HIM CRY MORE! DAD, I'M GONNA GO DEAF!"
"Well, Frankie, I-" Trè was cut off at suddenly feeling an unexpected wetness on his shirt, looking down only to get sprayed in the face by a stream of urine.
"OH MY GOD!" Trè screamed, shielding his face from the steady yellow stream with his hands. "FRANKIE! GET PAPER TOWELS, HE PEED ON ME!"
"OH MY GOD! DAD, WHY DID YOU AGREE TO THIS?!"
"I DON'T KNOW! NOW HURRY UP, THIS IS DISGUST-"
Frankie only heard his father scream.
"YOU KNOW WHAT, GET THE CLOROX WIPES, HE JUST FUCKING POOPED ALL OVER THE COFFEE TABLE!"
"DAD!" Frankie called back, the disgust evident in his voice, "DON'T YOU HAVE HIM LYING ON A DIAPER?!"
"YES!" Trè shouted, pinching his nose to protect himself from the rank smell of the baby's poop, "THE LAST CLEAN DIAPER BILLIE PUT IN THE BAG! HE POOPED ALL OVER THE OTHER TWO ALREADY!"
"WHAT?! JESUS, THIS IS A TRAINWRECK!"
"BRING THE WIPES, FRANKITO, BRING THEM NOW!"
"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" Frankie called, rushing to his father with two tubes of Clorox wipes in his hands.
Trè seized the cylindrical containers, kneeling down in front of the table and opening one up.
"Thanks, Frankie, listen...run upstairs and start the bath water, and then...I'm sorry to make you do this, but...go to Ramona's bathroom and grab three pads. I have an idea. That's the game plan. Got it?"
"Oh my God...Da-ad...why?"
"Come on Frankie, man up, we'll be put out of our misery soon...just...take one for the team, buddy."
Frankie gulped nervously and shuttered.
"O-okay, Dad..."
"Be brave, Frankie, BE A MAN!"
"O-Okay, I'll be a very wimpy man..."
"COME ON! BATTLE CRY! THE CALL TO WAR!"
"Dad you're making it worse..."
"SCREAM LIKE A FEARLESS VIKING WARRIOR HEADING INTO BATTLE-"
"Nope, I'm good, wimpy man is off to snoop through his sister's...feminine products."
Frankie turned towards the stairs and ran up to his sister's bathroom, leaving his father alone with the sobbing baby.
"Oh my God, you're still crying?" Trè said, looking down at the boy lying on the now stained coffee table. "Hey, hey, it's okay, buddy, nooo, don't cry...Frankie's starting the water and then we're gonna give you a bath, yeah, don't worry...just don't cry anymore, I'm slowly going deaf and it's not enjoyab-"
"DAD!" Frankie interjected from upstairs, "HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BATHE HIM IN THE THE TUB, IT'S TOO BIG FOR HIM, HE'LL DROWN!"
Trè face-palmed, kicking himself for not even having realized that the baby was too small to be bathed in a tub.
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Trè-by Sitting
FanfictionWhen Trè is left to babysit, both hilarity and disaster ensue. - o3