Tiny Baby Wukong Fic Part 3: Childhood
Wukong was becoming more and more agitated by the minute.
It started out with small moments of frustration; he woke up from a short nap and grumbled when he found that he was still an infant, or huffed and turned away when Tripitaka asked if he needed anything. Then he started to bare his teeth when anyone, even Tripitaka whom he was still clinging to, went to touch or pick him up, and snarled when his brothers so much as smiled at him.
At one point Tripitaka took a short break from holding him in order to relieve himself and stretch a little, and Wukong refused to be held by anyone else, so Tripitaka left him on a nice soft bit of grass to await his return. He figured Wukong would be fine— he was still mentally an adult, after all— but Wukong apparently got distressed enough by his absence to start crying, and then soothed himself by sucking on his own fists. Bajie had laughed at him for this, and Tripitaka came back to find Wukong screaming shrilly at the top of his tiny lungs while his brother doubled over in hilarity.
Now Wukong sat, snuggled into the crook of Tripitaka's arm, absolutely fuming. Perhaps it was wrong to take pleasure in his disciple’s sulking, but Tripitaka had to admit Wukong looked rather cute right now. So small and grumpy.
Without really thinking about it, he began to rock gently from side to side.
“Stop that!” Wukong snapped.
Wukong rolled out of Tripitaka's arms and climbed down his sleeve to the ground.
“Where are you going, Pilgrim?” Tripitaka asked as he stood up and began to storm off.
“Nowhere.” Wukong replied, through his teeth.
“Just tell me where you want to go, and I'll carry you—” Tripitaka began to get up.
“No!” Wukong turned back to Tripitaka, bristling, “I don't need your help!”
Tripitaka blinked and took a step back. Sitting nearby, Wujing suddenly became very interested in the stitching of his shoes, and Bajie began giving them quick sideways glances as he pretended to polish the horse’s tack.
Wukong huffed. He went to keep walking away, but seemed to trip over nothing and fell right onto his stomach. He gave a squeaky cry, and Tripitaka, Bajie and Wujing all rushed to him.
“Pilgrim, Pilgrim, are you— OW!” Tripitaka went to scoop Wukong up, but as his hand brushed against the infant's head he suddenly found his left index finger caught in sharp, needle-like baby teeth.
Wukong let go as Tripitaka shrieked. Tripitaka clutched his stinging finger to his chest, and Wukong shrunk in on himself, curling into a tiny, guilty furball.
“Master, are you alright?” Wujing asked quietly.
Tripitaka held up his hand, wincing as beads of blood formed where the teeth had broken the skin.
“I shall get the medicine kit.” He said, and went to search through the luggage.
Bajie, meanwhile, slowly and tentatively got down on his knees and reached out to pick Wukong up.
Wukong tensed as he felt his brother's touch, but Bajie gently placed his thumbs between his shoulderblades and looped his fingers around his chest, and lifted the infant so his arms, legs, and tail hung freely. Wukong gave some unhappy shrieks and squeals and wriggled and batted and kicked. Bajie carefully placed the infant so he was lying draped over his shoulder.
“Hey,” He said, patting Wukong’s back gently, “You gotta stop with the tantrum, okay?”
Wukong replied with a loud sob.
“Yeah, today's been rough for all of us,” Bajie sympathised, “But that's not an excuse to bite people. Here, do you want a drink of water or something? It might help you feel better.”
Tripitaka watched this little interaction in quiet bafflement— it felt so wildly out of character for Bajie to be so gentle and affectionate towards Wukong. What was even more shocking was that Wukong accepted the water without hesitation when Bajie held up his canteen, and drank a good lot of it.
Wujing came back with some bandages, and Tripitaka held out his hand for him to bind up. The bite wasn't too deep, just painful.
By the time Tripitaka’s finger had been cleaned and bandaged, Wukong had calmed down enough to smack Bajie when he tried to ruffle the infant's fur. He seemed with it again, at least.
“Master,” He whimpered, and reached towards Tripitaka, “Master, I'm sorry.”
Tripitaka reached out and Bajie slowly let go of the infant. He looked… well, strangely upset as Tripitaka gathered Wukong up in his arms. Hurt?
One problem at a time, Tripitaka decided.
“What was this about?” He asked Wukong, holding up his bandaged hand.
Wukong curled up, covering his head with his arms and snuggling against Tripitaka's cassock.
“I…” Wukong snarled to himself and tried again, “I hate this.”
“Being a baby?” Tripitaka extrapolated, and Wukong nodded quickly, not uncovering his face.
Tripitaka supposed he understood. Babies were powerless, dependent and incompetent in almost everything, and Wukong was not used to being any of those things. And Bajie had said Wukong would find the situation embarrassing.
“But Pilgrim,” He said, “Everyone was a baby at some point. It's nothing to be ashamed about.”
Wukong raised his head to glare at Tripitaka.
“Just because you were a baby once, it doesn't mean everyone else was.” He snapped.
“You're being unreasonable, Pilgrim.” He said. But even then, he knew there was a note of truth to what Wukong had said. After all, Wukong had been born— hatched, rather— an adult. Childhood involved a special type of vulnerability he had never experienced before.
Tripitaka only vaguely remembered the times when he had been given all his food already chopped up into little pieces, when he had to be bathed and dressed by someone else, when he had been afraid of silly things like the shadows of trees in the moonlight and the actually rather cute chubby little skinks that lived in the monastery gardens. Of course, there had been some good things too: bedtime stories and lullabies, so many older brothers who delighted in cuddling and playing with him, and the times every day that Abbot Faming, despite being a very busy man, came to see him and kiss him on the forehead and teach him something new in a simple little lesson created especially for him. But Wukong hadn't had any childhood experiences, good or bad. He probably had no idea how to handle… any of it.
And thus he was handling it badly.
“Babies are so stupid,” Wukong ranted, still curled up all miffed in Tripitaka's arms, “I hate them.”
“Pilgrim, I know for a fact that you love babies.”
Tripitaka sighed. Wukong was determined to be cranky, it seemed.
“Master’s right, you know,” Bajie chimed in, “Almost everyone’s been a baby, and it's honestly not that bad. You should've seen me when I was a young piglet— fucking adorable, I was.”
“Did your mother and father think so?” Wujing raised an eyebrow.
“Wouldn't know, never met my father, and—”
“Eh,” Bajie shrugged, “He was probably just some old boar from a farm somewhere."
“Yeah, duh,” Bajie gave a wide gesture over his whole body, “Why else would I look like this?”
Wujing’s expression changed from surprise to concern.
“Ah,” Wujing relaxed in honest relief, “Good. Well, what happened to her?”
“I ate her.” Bajie said, utterly nonchalant.
“...You are an abomination.” Wujing replied.
“Ha, says you!” Bajie clapped back, “Hey, Little Brother, what did your māma say when she popped you out?”
Wujing’s face muscles tightened by a microscopic fraction— a subtle micro-expression Tripitaka had learned to pick up on over many years. The closest translation he could come up with for it was: Second Elder Brother should not talk any more.
“If I ever had parents, it was before I even became a god,” He said quietly, “Which was quite a long time ago. I have no memories of them."
There was a silence, then—
“I remember my father,” He said finally, “I remember I had… fallen, and hurt my leg, and I was crying. But then he picked me up and held me to his chest and he told me that he was there, that I was safe. And I felt safe. And… no, that is all I remember.”
Tripitaka looked down at Wukong, still curled up in his arms and hiding his face.
“See,” He murmured, “We were all little once. It is alright to feel vulnerable—”
“I'm not vulnerable!” Wukong snapped.
“Of course not,” Tripitaka stroked the infant's fur, “Just know that it is alright if you are. I am here, Pilgrim. You are safe.”
Wukong didn't reply, but buried deeper into the folds of Tripitaka's cassock until he was barely visible.
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