Dead Plate Oneshots Oh Baby

Rody Lamoree never thought he’d start his morning by tripping over a *baby basket.* He stumbled outside, only half-awake, and promptly stubbed his toe on it.

“OW! Wh—?” Rody squinted down, rubbing his toe and blinking at the sight. Inside the basket, a baby in a blue onesie stared back, unimpressed.

“Richard!” Rody shrieked. “There’s a *baby* outside!”

Richard stumbled into the hall, yawning. “Rody, if this is another ‘emergency’ involving your shoelaces—” He stopped, staring down at the baby, who now looked between them with clear judgment.

“Where… did you *get* this baby?” Richard asked, folding his arms.

“*I didn’t get him,* he’s just… here!” Rody pointed frantically. “And he’s got a note!”

Richard leaned in, reading the scribbled message. “*His name is Vincent. His father should take responsibility.*”

They exchanged a long, horrified look.

“Do you think he’s yours?” Rody asked.

“I’m very single, Rody. And, no offense, but I don’t think this baby’s yours either.”

“Hey! Why not?” Rody demanded, but Vincent’s little face scrunched up, almost as if he agreed with Richard.

“Well, he’s here now,” Richard sighed, picking Vincent up gingerly, holding him at arm’s length. “So let’s… bring him inside, I guess.”

Vincent immediately slapped Richard on the nose with all the righteous indignation of a tiny, furious nobleman.

“Ow!” Richard flinched. “Alright, kid, take it easy!”

“Well, *I* like him,” Rody snickered, following them in.

—

Once they got Vincent settled on the couch, they stared at him, and he stared back, giving them both a squinty-eyed glare.

“What does he want?Money?” Rody whispered to Richard.

“He’s not a vending machine, Rody, he’s a baby. Babies need, like, food, I think.”

“Right! Food!” Rody rushed to the fridge and returned with the only thing he knew babies drank: orange juice.

Richard watched in horror as Rody began unscrewing the lid. “Are you seriously about to give a baby *orange juice?* Rody, no!”

“What? It’s fruit!” Rody protested.

“Babies need formula!” Richard snapped, grabbing his keys. “I’ll go buy some; you stay here and… babysit.”

Rody looked back at Vincent, who was already reaching for the remote. “What am I supposed to do until you get back?”

Richard shrugged. “Just keep him out of trouble.”

Rody sighed, turning back to Vincent. “Alright, little guy, looks like it’s just you and me—HEY!” He lunged forward, grabbing the remote out of Vincent’s tiny hands just in time.

Vincent glared at him, brow furrowed like a tiny old man. Then, with all the confidence of a villain, he leaned over and promptly *bit* Rody on the hand.

“Ow!” Rody hissed, clutching his finger. “Alright, fine, you little gremlin—*fine.*”

Vincent just gave him a smug little look.

—

Richard returned with a bag of baby supplies just in time to find Rody with a makeshift pillow fort barricade around Vincent, who was in the process of trying to dismantle it.

“Did you build a *prison* around him?” Richard asked, barely holding back laughter.

“Well, he bites!” Rody insisted, holding up his red hand. “Look at this! Kid’s got *fangs*!”

“Maybe he wouldn’t bite if you didn’t treat him like a tiny criminal,” Richard muttered, pulling out a bottle and formula. “Here. Feed him.”

Rody took the bottle, cautiously approaching Vincent, who stared at him like a rival. After a few fumbled attempts and more judgment from Vincent, Rody finally got the bottle to the baby’s mouth.

Vincent took a few sips, then promptly spit the formula right back out—right onto Rody’s shirt.

“Oh, come on!” Rody groaned.

Richard laughed. “I guess he doesn’t like you much.”

“Yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Rody grumbled, wiping the formula off his shirt with a paper towel.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Rody froze. “That’s Manon. I was supposed to be ready by now!”

“Oh, this should be good,” Richard said with a wicked grin, scooping Vincent up as Rody rushed to open the door.

Manon entered, casting a wary glance at Richard holding Vincent. “What… is going on here?”

Rody laughed awkwardly. “It’s… funny story, actually. Someone, uh, left a baby here.”

Vincent looked at Manon, giving her a long, appraising look before bursting into a loud, very pointed wail.

Manon winced, covering her ears. “Seems like he doesn’t like me.”

Richard laughed under his breath. “He has good taste.”

Manon scowled, but Vincent chose that exact moment to spit up, hitting Rody square on his shirt again.

“Oh, for the love of—Richard, *help me!*” Rody moaned.

Richard just watched, grinning, as Vincent gave him a big, toothy smile, proud of his accomplishment.

“Good luck with that, Dad,” Richard said, clapping Rody on the shoulder before slipping away.

—

As days passed, Rody and Richard quickly learned that Vincent wasn’t just a baby. He was an *agent of chaos.*

He would crawl faster than seemed physically possible, swiping things off tables, spilling cups, and somehow managing to reach exactly whatever he wasn’t supposed to touch. Rody had the babyproofing skills of a potato, so he frequently ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, yelling, “Vincent! No!”

One afternoon, Vincent managed to crawl into Rody’s room, making a beeline for Rody’s prized stack of comic books. By the time Rody found him, Vincent was sitting in the middle of the comics, drooling happily all over the covers.

“*Why?!*” Rody cried, frantically gathering them up. Vincent just gave him an innocent little look and reached for another one.

“Rody, he’s a baby,” Richard said, smirking from the doorway. “Not exactly a fan of ‘Mint Condition.’”

“Yeah, well, I’ll have you know these are priceless!” Rody said, clutching the comics to his chest as Vincent clapped his little hands, thoroughly entertained by Rody’s panic.

Richard laughed. “You’ve really met your match, huh?”

Vincent, meanwhile, grinned like he was in on a joke only he understood.

—

Their makeshift family continued in this mad, unpredictable pattern. Vincent was a perfect angel around Richard, but the moment Rody was left alone with him, all bets were off.

One night, Rody tried to read Vincent a bedtime story. “Alright, buddy, it’s ‘Goodnight Moon.’”

Vincent squirmed in his arms, wailing as Rody flipped through the pages.

“Okay, okay, not your taste, got it!” Rody said, panicked. “Maybe… Dr. Seuss?”

Vincent calmed down immediately, staring intently at the bright pictures.

“There we go!” Rody said, relieved. “See, you’re not so tough, are ya?”

Right on cue, Vincent slapped the book shut on Rody’s finger.

Richard poked his head in. “You need help with bedtime?”

“Not at all!” Rody said, teeth gritted. “This kid and I? We’re bonding.”

Vincent gurgled, beaming up at Richard and reaching out his little arms, leaving Rody alone in the chair, defeated.

Despite all the chaos, Rody and Richard eventually found themselves weirdly attached to Vincent. Rody would never admit it, but he started to find Vincent’s little “pranks” kind of charming.

One evening, Rody found himself watching Vincent crawl across the floor, laughing as the baby babbled nonsense.

“Guess he’s alright,” Rody muttered.

Richard raised an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t get all mushy on me now.”

Rody rolled his eyes, grinning. “Just saying. Little guy’s got character.”

Right on cue, Vincent belched loudly, smirking up at them both. Rody laughed, patting his head. “Yeah. Little menace.”