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To anyone else, this would have been trivial. Comical, even. Tripping, skinning their knee on the hardwood floor. Most people might allow themselves a swear word or two before getting back up and continuing on with their day. However, most people weren't Batman. Batman fights villains, exchanging punches like it's nothing. Batman is in near-death experiences almost daily. Batman wouldn't care about a scraped knee.
However, Batman wasn't there. Instead, it was Bruce.
Bruce had been stressed, to put it lightly. Neglecting his own physical and mental health were almost job requirements at this point, as much as Alfred would vehemently disagree. Today, he'd been tracking the whereabouts of a small-time criminal who'd been annoyingly persistent with their crime spree and annoyingly elusive to catch. Even thinking about the case gave Bruce a headache, and he'd been working on this case for three days already. Three whole days! It was unthinkable for such a petty criminal.
So, today he had skipped breakfast and lunch, dedicating himself entirely to this case so he could finally put it to rest. He was closer than ever, but he'd hit yet another wall, and after staring at his computer for so long that his vision blurred, he finally decided to retire for the day - not for his health, but out of sheer frustration.
Then, he skinned his knee, and all of the stress from the past few weeks had a catalyst.
The combination of stress and shock from the fall was enough to bring Bruce to tears almost immediately. In the back of his mind, he could tell he had slipped, but that didn't matter right then. His head hurt, and now his knee hurt, and he was hungry, and- and-
Bruce's sniffles increased to wails as he realized what he wanted. He wanted Alfred. Alfred could make everything better. His warm hugs, his cologne, his voice… Everything about the man was soothing, and Bruce wanted - no, needed - him.
Thankfully he didn't have to wait long, as he heard quick footsteps approaching.
“Bruce? What happened, darling?” Alfred asked, concern lacing his voice as he knelt down next to Bruce.
Hearing Alfred’s voice was enough to calm Bruce down a little, but not quite enough to keep him from latching on to Alfred like a koala (nearly knocking the older man down in the process) and letting out a long whine into the butler’s chest.
The soft “Oh, pup…” Bruce received in return, combined with Alfred gently running his hand through Bruce’s hair and rocking them back and forth did the rest of the calming. Alfred starting to hum a tune that Bruce faintly remembered as one of Vivaldi’s pieces fully did him in, and Bruce looked up at Alfred with still-teary eyes, pouting heavily.
“There he is,” Alfred said softly, smiling down at Bruce. “Now that we’re all calmed down, would you mind telling me what happened?”
Now, the act of speaking faced Bruce with a conundrum. He couldn’t be little right now. Not for any specific reason, though. He just- He just couldn’t! He couldn’t be little, weak, small, vulnerable... He couldn’t bother Alfred with taking care of him. He had to be strong! He had to be big - had to be Batman.
On the other hand, he felt small . Small enough that just speaking would be challenging. How could he possibly act big enough to fool Alfred, to fool one of the most perceptive and intelligent people he knew?
“I- I s’ipped…” Bruce mumbled, dropping Alfred’s gaze to hide a wince as he was reminded of his knee.
“Well now, that’s no good! Did you get hurt, hon?”
“No ‘hon’!” Bruce huffed, still looking down at Alfred’s lap.
“No?” Alfred questioned, “Why not, Master Bruce?” The return to formality stung a little, but Bruce reminded himself that he wanted this. He was big.
He whined in response once again, pushing away from Alfred slightly to glare at the ground.
“Come now. I’m not Mr. J’onn, you have to use your words for me to understand what you want.”
After a bit more pouting at the floor, Bruce finally mumbled, “‘M big… No ‘hon’.”
“Ah, I see…” Alfred hummed. “Well, heroes need a bit of help sometimes, don’t they? I’m sure even Clark would let his Mom patch him up after a hard day. You’re obviously more than capable of taking care of yourself, but would it not be nice to have someone else do it for you? Just this once?”
If Alfred were capable of puppy dog eyes, he would be giving them to Bruce while he spoke. Bruce, however, was too little to notice the obvious pandering Alfred was doing, entranced with being called a ‘big, strong hero.’
“Mhmm…” He slowly agreed, scooting off of Alfred to slowly roll up his pant leg. Thankfully he wasn't in full Bat-costume today, having opted for a simple suit since he wasn't leaving the cave. It made moving a bit easier.
He gasped as he saw the state of his knee, tearing up yet again. Feeling the sting of the injury was one thing, but seeing a bright red scrape was another level of ‘ouchie’ that Bruce wasn’t ready for.
“Shh… It’s okay, it’s okay,” Alfred shushed, standing up from his spot on the floor with a small mutter about his knees. “Can you be my brave hero and walk with me to the bathroom?”
Bruce gaped at Alfred’s words. ' My brave hero.' He was Alfred’s hero.
“Can do it,” Bruce muttered, putting on a brave face. He grabbed Alfred’s hand, standing up and immediately leaning into Alfred’s side.
Truthfully, the scrape didn't hurt that much, but it hurt more than nothing, and it was enough to have Bruce using Alfred as support for the entire trip to the restroom.
The walk was a bit farther than usual, and it didn't take long for Bruce to realize that Alfred had taken them to his flat instead of the first-floor restroom. He was glad; he was always more comfortable in Alfred’s flat.
Before he knew it, he was sat down in the bathroom. Alfred turned, rummaging through the cabinet for a moment before pulling out a box.
"Now, do you think the Grey Ghost could make it better?" He asked, holding up a hero-themed bandaid.
Despite himself, Bruce flapped his hands happily, a smile on his face for the first time in God knows how long. He loved the Grey Ghost!
Alfred made quick work of cleaning the scrape, placing the bandaid with care before pressing a kiss to Bruce's knee.
"There we are, darling."
Bruce pouted at the nickname, starting to insist that he was big again. Alfred beat him to it, however.
"Now, now, even big boys deserve affection." Alfred smiled warmly. "Besides, no matter how old you are, you'll always be my little one.”
Even Bruce couldn’t argue with that, so he simply huffed, reaching for Alfred's hand. Alfred took it, helping Bruce stand, leading him to the attached bedroom, and sitting him on the bed.
"Would my hero like the train pajamas or the blue pajamas tonight?" Alfred asked.
Bruce had yet another conundrum to deal with. He loved trains, but the blue pajamas were much softer. A whine escaped him as he found himself unable to decide between the two. Why couldn't he have trains and soft?
"Now, now… What if we wore your blue shirt and your train bottoms? That way you could have both?" Alfred smiled, holding up the aforementioned shirt and pants. Bruce gave a small smile in return, nodding.
As Alfred helped Bruce out of his scratchy formalwear, Bruce let out an audible sigh. His blue shirt was slipped on, the texture feeling amazing after a day of stiff collars and tight sleeves. Then they got to his pants, and there was a new issue.
"Bruce, darling, will you be needing any protection tonight?" Alred asked, his gentle tone reflected in his caring eyes. Despite this, Bruce's own eyes grew wide.
"Nuh uh! 'm big!" He cried, scooting back on the bed, away from the invisible threat of diapers.
"I'm well aware," Alfred sighed, sitting on the bed next to Bruce, placing his hand over his ward's. They looked at each other for a moment before Alfred spoke again.
"We're both such big boys, but even big boys can have accidents sometimes. So, what if I wore one too, huh pup? Just in case I have an accident as well?"
Bruce pouted, eyebrows furrowing as he thought. It couldn't be too bad if Alfred would wear one, and if even Alfie could have an accident, then he wouldn't be mad if Bruce had one!
"M'kay…" Bruce agreed, still a bit hesitant but more than willing to trust Alfred.
"That's a good boy," Alfred chuckled, ruffling Bruce's hair as he went to get the supplies.
Once they were both changed, Alfred led Bruce to the couch. Bruce immediately situated himself on Alfred's lap, earning a soft laugh from the older man.
Bruce was fairly tired at this point, and words felt harder than ever, but even as he clumsily rubbed his eyes with a balled up fist, he forced one word out of his mouth.
"Sto'y?"
"Of course, my dear."
So, Alfred started reciting one of his favorite plays. Bruce always loved when Alfred would act for him, doing different voices for each character and making grand hand gestures, even with Bruce in his lap.
" But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account. Though this knave came something saucily to the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair, there was good sport at his making…" Alfred spoke, making sure each word was profound.
So, Bruce found himself nodding off, a thumb slipping into his mouth as he did so. If being small meant sitting in his favorite person's lap, listening to one of his favorite plays, dressed in comfortable pajamas… Well, maybe it wasn't so bad after all.