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“Sir.”
“I’m not going.”
“ Bruce.”
If anyone else saw the exchange, he would be mortified.
However, no one else is there — just Alfred, and Bruce had given up any sense of dignity the moment he had walked in the door anyways. After spending a day with the Board of Directors for Wayne Tech, Bruce barely had the energy to even make it upstairs.
“You have to go. It’s Commissioner Gordon’s birthday, and he’s kindly invited you as a friend. It would be rude not to attend — therefore, we must go.” Alfred insisted, albeit gently. While he knew how to give tough love, he had an inkling that this was not a good time to use it.
Bruce, however, was not having it. His head was pounding, his stomach was empty, and he needed a shower. Even that sounded like too much energy, though, and truthfully, Alfred’s insistence was starting to make him angry. That was just a recipe for disaster, because before the old butler could begin another lecture, Bruce threw his suit coat on the floor and stormed upstairs like a petulant child.
“I’m not going! Leave me alone!”
The sound of his door slamming shut echoed down the empty halls, causing Alfred to sigh. This was going to be quite a long night, if Bruce kept this up. However, he knew it was better to allow him at least ten minutes to cool off before trying to wrangle him into a tuxedo and into the car.
Ten minutes , he told himself. Ten minutes, and I’ll get him ready.
__________________________
Bruce sat upon the edge of his bed in silence, the throbbing in his temples building up in speed and intensity. The pain was nothing he couldn’t work through, so why was it so difficult to push on tonight? Why did he feel so angry?
Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes, causing them to sting with the threat of overflowing. A lump the size of a softball sat in his throat, reminding him that if he spoke, he’d break.
So he didn’t speak. He sat in rigid silence, his back straight as an arrow. He just needed a few minutes to compose himself. Just a few minutes, before Alfred would come in and lecture him about Jim’s birthday party.
About thirty seconds went by, and a soft knock sounded on the door.
“Sir, I’m coming in.”
Oh god, no.
Before Alfred could get a word out, Bruce was already breaking. Everything was fine around him, and yet here he was, falling apart. It had been ages since he had last let himself cry.
“Oh, Bruce, what’s the matter?” Alfred approached him with his hands out, resting them gently on his shoulder. “Why the tears?”
That soft tone was all it took. Bruce broke out into deep sobs, suddenly clinging to Alfred as though he would disappear if he let go.
“Poppa!”
His head was filled with cotton, pushing all of his rational thoughts deep below the numbness that was starting to settle in. If he were in his adult headspace, he’d understand he was regressing. However, he wasn’t an adult at the moment. No, he was a child, desperate for comfort, care, and understanding.
Still, he worried. He worried that Alfred would be angry with him for yelling and slamming the door earlier. He worried that Jim would be sad that he didn’t go to the birthday party — and by extension, he worried that Barbara would be mad at him for bailing. It only made his tears flow even quicker.
“M’sorry, poppa, m’sorry…” his watery eyes met Alfred’s. “Mister Gordon s’gonna be sad, n’Babs won’t like me anymore, but I can’t go— I just can’t go, poppa, I can’t…” he wept out, his voice warbling with every hitch of his breath.
“Oh, little one…” Alfred cooed, his age-worn hands gentle as he tilted Bruce’s chin up. “You don’t have to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings. I’ll contact the two of them and let them know that you aren’t feeling well and can’t make it. We can schedule a time for you to meet with Commissioner Gordon and Barbara for lunch sometime soon.” He soothed, wiping his cheeks with a handkerchief when he noticed the tears had slowed down.
Bruce sniffled, giving a hesitant nod. Alfred was probably right, he usually was. Maybe he and Babs could meet up for a play date soon. That thought made him smile.
“There’s that little smile I love so much.” Alfred hummed out, gently pinching Bruce’s cheek. “Do you think you could walk with Poppa to your nursery, sweet?”
Bruce perked up at the sound of his nursery — a special room just for him, courtesy of his Poppa, who loved to spoil him. “J’ammies…”
“That’s right, little lamb. Poppa will put you in your nappy, then your pajamas. We can have some tummy time after dinner, too. How does that sound, sweetheart?”
“Tummy…!” Bruce exclaimed, a smile on his face. He loved tummy time, he got to play with his water mat, and better yet, Alfred would play with him.
Gone were his worries — Poppa was here, and he was going to make it all better. Bruce toddled to his nursery beside Alfred, holding his hand and taking slow, careful steps. He didn’t fuss when Alfred gently undressed him and wiped him down with a wet washcloth.
When it came to being diapered, though, Bruce stood frozen for a moment. A small part of his brain — he couldn’t figure out which — was telling him to stop it. However, it all faded to the background when Alfred patted the changing table with a smile. “Come on up, poppet.”
And up he went, onto the changing table, on his back, watching the mobile spin above his head. He barely noticed that he was being diapered until after it was finished and the onesie was already halfway buttoned up. “P’jama!” He kicked his feet, giggling at the softness of the flannel on his skin.
“That’s right! Such a smart little one you are.” He cooed. “Poppa has to go make your bottle, now. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
Bruce frowned. He didn’t want that — he didn’t want Poppa to go. That meant he would be alone, even for a few minutes, which sounded unbearable, until —
A pacifier was placed in his mouth, and once again, it was all better. He nursed on it, a few snuffles being hushed again when his favorite Teddy bear, Benny, was tucked into his arms. Bruce’s calloused hands ran over the soft fur of his stuffie, that smelled like lavender and chamomile. Carefully embroidered eyes stared back at him, a friendly face to turn to when he was alone.
“Benny,” he babbled around his pacifier. “Gon’ sleep soon.”
“Is that right?” Alfred questioned, as he walked back into the room, bottle in hand. “Well, no need to worry. Poppa will get you to bed, my little one.” He took a seat on the rocking chair, custom built to fit Alfred and his big baby boy. “Come sit on Poppas lap, darling.”
Bruce crawled onto his lap, laying his head against Alfred’s shoulder. The teat of the bottle was placed to his lips, and he welcomed it, his pacifier hanging off of his shirt by its clip. Sweet milk danced across his pallet, filling his belly and making him feel warm and drowsy. He distantly remembered tummy time, but he was far too tired to ask, even as he was being burped. With Benny in his arms, and Poppa holding him, Bruce fell into a deep sleep.
“Goodnight, poppet. Sweet dreams.” Alfred murmured, as he kissed his temple.