#ya know

they're soooo funny

inspired by this (correct) tweet:

Ask and you shall receive~

Awww thank you so much!!!! ;___; That is so sweet ajjdjdjs

Here ya go, some fem Heavymedic!

In which Kregg builds a restaurant™

The Krusty Kregg? The Kregg Krab? I don't know what to call this...

"Father."

Bruce stopped himself, train of thought derailing entirely as his brain caught onto the harsh correction. It was so abrupt and unexpected that he momentarily forgot what he had been talking about.

Alfred apparently noticed Bruce's silence (it was better to be silent than say things like 'huh' or 'um', he'd found that out already) and the butler tsk'ed and continued on with the dusting of the tapestry he had been tending to.

"You're getting far too old for that kind of talk, Master Bruce."

Talk?

But that's what he'd always called his Father--Daddy. Daddy's eyes would shine bright whenever Bruce called for him when he got home from the late shifts. And Bruce would always get a warm hand in his hair, and Daddy would greet him always with, "There's my buckaroo! How was your day?"

So why was it suddenly not okay to do now?

Was it because Daddy and Mummy were dead? Was he not allowed to do it because Bruce caused their deaths?

Bruce shifted from one foot to the other, teetering on the balls of his feet. Alfred gave him another look and Bruce promptly stood straight and still. He was trying not to fidget so often anymore, but it was hard.

"Why not?" Bruce forced the words out of his mouth in an uneasy query, tilting his head.

Alfred sighed and put down the duster, before taking his glasses off and casually cleaning them with his handkerchief. "Well, Thomas was your Father, you would do well to address him as such."

That didn't make any sense to Bruce. "'Daddy' isn't okay, but 'Father' is?"

"Yes." Alfred responded, bringing the pair of glasses up to the light before placing them back upon his face, now immaculately clean. "'Daddy' is something more attuned to the ladies of any age, young or old, given their...dispositions. Young boys becoming young men don't call their Father's 'Daddy'." Alfie made a face then, very slight. It flickered into disdain for exactly one second then vanished when Alfred finally addressed Bruce by making eye-contact. "You're not a child anymore, Master Bruce. You're growing up. I told Thomas he was spoiling you by allowing you to continue with that behavior, being so lenient, but he just couldn't help himself."

Alfred laughed lightly and then must've seen the trepidation Bruce felt on his face, because he continued, "I will say, most children with your status don't get to call their parents by these informal little nicknames. Your Father was raised in the old tradition, I don't know why he was adamant to not do such with you."

"Tradition?"

"Yes, why, children used to always call their parents 'Father' and 'Mother', especially those in the higher class. It denotes authority. My own father always had us calling him 'Sir'."

Bruce scrunched his nose up. That didn't sound right. Wasn't that too formal? "Was that the only way you addressed him? Sir?"

Alfred hummed for a second, seeming recollective all of a sudden. "Why yes. If I called him something else he'd have--"

The older man cut off suddenly, slight smile turning instantly to a frown. His eyes flickered back to Bruce then toward the tapestry. He picked up the duster as he replied, "Well, we were disciplined. Anything other than 'Sir' was disrespect, and it would not be tolerated in that home. Regardless, you ought to do well to adjust how you speak of your late father. It is unbecoming of a Wayne to go around at your age still calling him 'daddy'. People will make a mockery of it. Remember that."

Bruce chewed on that thought for a minute. It didn't feel right, saying something else, so formal. But he'd adjusted to so many other changes these past two years.

Maybe Alfred was right. It was unbecoming of a ten year old, especially a Wayne.

Bruce had been hearing a lot more of that reasoning, these days.