♡

☆ keep believing / keep pretending . . .

hiii im mouse this is my blog !! I post age reg stuff - writing and aesthetic mostly. Im trying to post art again but it's tough. inbox is open, no anons sorry :P if you want me to keep your blog private just lmk!!

Bruce regressing in the middle of the day seemingly out of nowhere, just because he feels comfy and safe. Catches Alfred off guard but its soooo precious to him. Bruce is totally normal one minute, but Alfred gets a papercut or something and Bruce is falling over himself to give his finger a kiss to "make his booboo better".

Alfred picking up on the tiniest microexpressions and knowing Bruce is going to regress even before Bruce knows. His lip is quivering inperceptively? Yeah Alfred already got the binky out.

Bruce getting homesick. Oooough this one takes me out. On missions, on business trips... he calls Alfred no matter what, masking with the pretense of updating him on the mission but really he just wants to hear Alfred's voice :( and Alfred knows that, so he softens his tone and makes sure Bruce knows Alfred misses him too...

Bruce's voice changing when he's small, but not in the typical way. He's just not calculating his speech as much. He's babbling, in his own way, repeating himself unintentionally and starting sentences with no clear end. He stumbles over his words because he thinks too fast. When he's just starting to regress, he takes a long time to speak because crafting his sentences to their usual standard is hard. Alfred has to remind him he doesn't need to use big words, he can use little words too.

The league sat attentively outside Batman’s room on the watchtower. He had been hit hard by a recent psychological attack, so hard that they had to call in Alfred. Alfred. Pennyworth. His dad - butler, whatever. The big guns. That was grounds for hovering.

That was why they collected in the hall, rested their battle-weary bodies against the halls of the ship. That was why they listened intently, super hearing or no, to parse whatever was going on in the adjacent room.

They were worried about their friend.

That was all.

“It’s alright love,” a gentle voice cooed just beyond the walls. “I’m here, I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.”

A sigh rolled through the denizens of the hall, despite the assurance not being directed at them.

It was hard to admit, but even harder to ignore.

“Are we gonna talk about how we’re all jealous of Bruce, or are we gonna sit here and try not to think about it,”

There were mumbles of protest, but Wally was right.

“We’re not jealous. I mean, I don’t get jealous like that,” John tried to debate,

“Yes we are, yes you do,” they all knew with J’onn the ‘I would know’ was implied.

The group went silent at the sound of shuffling, hoping they wouldn’t be found and understandably asked to buzz off. The shuffling settled.

“It’s just… homesickness,” Clark diverted his gaze down the hall, avoiding spying with x ray vision, “I used to see my mom and dad every weekend,”

“And you’ll see them again, I’m sure,” Shayera growled. She was tired, but right. Maybe whining about not seeing your family wasn’t the most sensitive in front of the aliens who didn’t get exiled at adoption-age.

“I’ve never met a nicer man,” Diana chimed, “I’m sure Hera would love him.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he was Hera. In disguise or something,” John recalled all the mythology books he read as a kid. At the library. With his mom. Dammit.

“Beats the hell outta my dad…” Wally started, but interrupted himself with another thought. “Wait, John I never hear about your dad,”

“Died when I was a kid.”

“Diana?”

“I never had one, I was made from clay.”

“Cannot believe I keep forgetting that. Shayera?”

“Never met the guy, we don’t really … do that on Thanagar,”

“Wait. Are we all fatherless? Is there seriously not a dad between us?”

“I have a dad-”

“We know, Clark.”

A telling silence hung in the air, thankfully reoriented by the returning voice behind the door.

“‘You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary combinations…’”

“Oh my god, he’s reading…” Wally whispered.

Clark explained, “Sherlock Holmes, I think. That’s Bruce’s favorite.”

“Of course it is.”

“shh.” J’onn and the others had migrated toward the door, listening more intently.

The six of them stayed like that for some time. They shifted for nominal comfort, splaying against the wall or resting their heads on their knees. They listened to the gentle voice recount the tale of The Red Headed Society, with appropriate gusto and softness in kind. It was nice, it was calm. Good enough to fall asleep to. Hence the weary leaguers not noticing the book close, and the reader bid his charge goodnight. They did notice when the door opened.

“Alfred!” The smattering of heroes tried to straighten their postures and preserve a modicum of decorum.

“Hello, children,” Alfred smiled.

Admittedly, they melted. To hell with decorum.

“How is he?” Clark mustered up some superman voice, at least pretending to be professional.

“Sleeping soundly now. He should be alright.” The team breathed a sigh of relief.

“Naturally I should stay at least for tonight, in case anything comes up,” the leaguers nodded, “and of course to tend to you all.” The nodding stopped.

“...what?”

Alfred continued despite the confused looks.

"Well I can't just go off to bed with you all out of sorts now can I?"

"You don't have to do that, Alfred," Clark protested sheepishly, "we can take care of ourselves, really."

Alfred looked over the array of heroes, still in tattered costumes and unkempt field dressing.

"If you were going to, you would have by now," he clasped his hands, now determined. "Come along then, the lot of you," he ordered, leading down the hall with no doubt they would follow.

They did, of course.

Alfred placed a case on the table from the bags he had brought, surveying the kitchen area as he waited for the group to file in. He produced from the bag a large container of soup and a few cooking utensils.

"Mr. Pennyworth, you really don't have to-"

"Nonsense, I've brought it up anyway. Honestly, how long has it been since any of you had a proper meal?"

No one answered, everyone's guilty looks directed anywhere but at Alfred.

"No matter", he produced a stainless steel pot from the bag with a muted clang, "now, I expect all of you to be showered and changed into bedclothes in say, a half hour or so. I'll have stew ready and I'll finish the last of the book for you all."

Despite the fact he clearly knew they were eavesdropping, there was a hint of excitement at finishing the book. Who could really get to bed with a mystery unsolved?