What if Error or ink is trying to teach pj and gradient how to ride a bike but like they don’t know how to do it lamo
Also I hope you doing good!! Please take care of yourself!! You’re so special and kind!!
aww thank you :3
i’m happy to write this heehee!! gradient is 5 and PJ is seven <3
everybody keep in mind— i never go into much detail with any injury, but somebody DOES lose a (baby) tooth and it is mentioned as being disconnected from their mouth. so yeah!! if that’s not your jam i get it. you can skip on by and see if my other stuff is cool to you!! :3 oh yeah and very brief mention of nausea and vomit cause ink is… ink
“hands on the handlebars— on the HANDLEBARS—”
Error had spent the entire day literally SPRINTING next to Paperjam’s bike as they careened down a hill, completely out of control. Sweat pouring down from his skull, he managed to catch up to her, only to immediately catch his foot on a rock and faceplant in the grass. Error himself had never TOUCHED a bike’s handles— he usually just tried to look mad as he got to cling to Ink’s pretty waist, the artist doing the actual biking with Error behind him— but it didn’t matter. Error was gonna be an expert at this, he had to be.
Because about ten minutes away, Ink was on another hill, trying to show Gradient how to ride.
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“i wanna teach the kiddos how to use a bike,” Ink had murmured as he woke up, flopping over the side of the pillow-barrier between them and tangling one hand in Error’s. “it’s about time, and pj should be feeling okay.”
Error had grumbled and flopped over to fall back asleep— but Ink yanked him back over, scuttled to his side, and sat right on his belly. “get up, get up!! i’m serious, come onnnn. it’s like seven thirty—“
After groaning again and making a few empty threats, Error sat up, sending Ink sprawling on the blankets. “i bet… i bet i could teach one of them.”
Ink scoffed. “you?? you can’t even ride a bike, ruru, let’s relax a little. i’m obviously gonna be the teacher.” He traced little patterns on Error’s chest with his finger, snickering as his husband’s face flushed.
“i could teach one, i bet. i said i could. i— i could teach pj better than you can teach gradient.”
A new light entered Ink’s mismatched sockets. The bet was on.
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Gradient had his little glasses taped onto his face, chubby hands like a vice around the tasseled handlebars. “mama, my feet don’t reach the pedals.”
Ink stopped short, glancing up from where he was adjusting the chains. “your seat’s the lowest it’ll go, buggy.”
“s’not working,” he explained, swinging his feet around and clearing the low pedal by about two inches. Ink sighed, and glanced around… inspiration struck when he noticed a pile of scrap wood.
Within minutes, Gradient’s little crocs had two-inch blocks of wood attached to them, like the world’s weirdest platform shoes. Ink beamed at his own genius. Gradient felt himself glitch slightly, blinking as hard as he could to get the anxiety off him. But instead of pushing him down the hill… Ink held onto the handlebar, his hand right next to Gray’s.
“ready? i can walk you around and you can just sit on it until you’re ready.” His fangs glinted in the sun a little, a sign of a very wide smile— Gradient knew his mama tried his best to be good and help him, but sometimes maybe that big of a smile didn’t mean good things.
“…don’t let go of the handle?”
“of course!!” Ink smiled again, and that calmed Gray’s little nerves a bit— maybe he was just nervous to bike. Maybe he was just scared of being so high off the ground. His thoughts were cut off, however, the moment Ink began walking, the pedals turning on their own and pushing the little glitch’s feet along. He found himself smiling after a little bit, despite how his uncomfortably tight helmet pressed into his big glasses, or how his butt kinda hurt on the seat.
It was when Ink started RUNNING that problems arose. The speed made the pedals go faster, and in his panic, Gradient pumped his little legs as hard as he could, sending him roaring forward. And leaving Ink in the dust.
A screaming black and teal blur flew through the grasses, but Ink smiled. Maybe all Gradi needed was a little push, and now he was okay! He had already taken an hour getting used to the feeling of the helmet, and needing to learn how each part of the bike worked before he even CONSIDERED getting on it— how much more was there to be afraid of?
It was the crunch from fifty meters across the meadow that wiped any happiness from Ink’s face. Now he ran for real, not just the little jog he had done when he was holding onto Gray’s bike. His bare feet pounded against the damp grass, his arms cutting through the air— all to see the tiny glitch sitting, completely bewildered, under the shade of a tree. The bike’s front tire had been scraped. His little knuckles were dusty from the skeleton equivalent of scratches, and his cheek looked raw with magic. He had hit the tree, clearly.
“mama,” he mumbled as if he was chewing something. “mama, look, i’m a big kid!”
In a post-panic daze, Ink took a while to glance down at his baby… to see his left front tooth completely GONE. Well. Not completely— it was sitting in a tiny puddle of magic in Gradi’s palm. Swallowing back a wave of vomit, Ink lurched forward and collapsed into a criss-cross-applesauce beside his son. “uh, yeah, you— you’re a big kid. we can celebrate if your dada doesn’t kill me, okay?”
—————————
It had been three hours and Paperjam still couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do anything but try wheelies, when they couldn’t even move forward.
“i’m pushing you down the hill again if you don’t try on your own, jammy.”
“no, you won’t, cause you’re not gonna run down after me. you’re a fat old man.”
Error scoffed and struggled slightly to his feet. Biting back a few VERY unkind words, reminding himself that this is his baby, that children can be traumatized easily, AND squeezing his eyes shut was almost not enough to keep the curses inside his mouth. But it was, in the end, and he settled for a brief “shut it”, glaring at the ground until his phone rang.
A thinly veiled panic soaked through Ink’s high voice, his words blending together as he babbled. “going home— knocked a tooth out— crashed in a tree— gradi says he’s fine but i’m worried he’s in shock or hurt—“
“wait, what??” Paperjam perked up. “no freakin’ fair!! i haven’t even lost my front teeth yet!!”
“you’re, uh, a different circumstance. now; we gotta go home cause ink crashed gradient into a tree,” Error snapped his ancient phone shut, lifting his kiddo off the bike. “and you’re gonna stop failing at wheelies before you break your ankles.”
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Ink sat on the couch, holding a wad of gauze in Gray’s little mouth as he listened for the door swinging open. They’d be home any minute, and Paperjam would no doubt be angry— they hadn’t lost any teeth yet, and hated it.
Neither Ink nor Error had the heart to tell them a lot of other milestones would be delayed like that— being that much of a preemie came with a lot of dangers and, later in life, annoyances. Ink had caught Error crying a little one time after seeing PJ up early to check the mirror every morning, hoping against hope that a tooth was gone…
But maybe they’d just let this time go and feel sorry for their little buggy brother. It was always hard to tell with PJ, whether they’d blow up or not.
“guess we’ll know soon,” Ink murmured to himself, gently changing the gauze, as the front door slammed open and he heard a tiny voice shriek.
With a slew of little “no freakin’ way”s and “you gotta be kidding me”s, PJ almost meticulously checked over their little brother, patting his knees for scrapes and rubbing his cheek. Immediately after the brief tenderness, though, they yanked at his lip to see the missing tooth.
“you BEAT me!!” they growled, shooting to their feet. “this is so STUPID!! the tooth monster’s gonna go see YOU first, and—“
“PJ, your brother crashed into a tree and knocked it out,” Ink corrected, tugging softly on his kiddo’s scarf to get their attention. “for all we know, he won’t lose a tooth naturally until he’s ten.”
“no, ish wash wiggly before i cwashed.” [“nope, it was wiggly before i crashed.”] Gradient giggled through the gauze, not quite realizing he was only agitating his sibling further.
With a tiny smile, Ink realized something— the kids really were tiny versions of their dads. Betting and comparing everything. Competitive as hell, until it really mattered. Glancing up at Error, he decided to test something…
“for the record, our little bug here did manage to ride his bike for like five seconds, so i’m the better teacher.”