Imagine Superman calling Batman baby girl
Just…just imagine his reaction 💀
“Relax, baby girl, I got it.”
Instant regret. World harrowing regret. Throw-myself-into-the-sun regret. Where’s-the-nearest-kryptonite regret. Why-in-the-world-did-I-just-call-Bruce-I’m-Vengeance-Wayne-baby-girl regret.
Clark swallows before turning around, suddenly very aware of every molecule in the car part he’s lifting. The tiny bubbles in the paint, not visible to the naked eye but very much feeling like tiny knives cutting into his hands at the moment.
Every single emotion is wiped off Clark’s face the moment the words leave his lips. He does have enough self control to school his features into a neutral expression as he waits for Bruce’s reaction.
Bruce is… standing very still.
Clark is afraid he might have broken him.
“I’m s-” Clark starts to say as he sets the heavy metal down gently on the ground.
Bruce holds up a hand to silence him. Clark obliges. There’s a moment. Then two. Then three. Clark wants to fly himself into the sun.
Bruce’s mouth is pressed into a thin line and he’s at a level 7.5 frown. Not good. Not the worst Clark has ever made him frown, but still not good. They don’t talk about the Disaster of The Level 9.8 frown. Dick told him it was the highest score any of the kids had ever seen. It didn’t make Clark feel any better.
“Bruce, I-” he tries again but this time he’s interrupted by the frown morphing into… disgust? Confusion? Clark’s so stressed out he can’t really tell.
“‘Baby girl’?” Bruce says, his lip curling. Ah. Very close to disgust. Distaste, at the very least. “Out of all the pet names, you go with ‘baby girl’?”
“That’s- that’s your only issue with-”
“Of course, it’s not my only issue,” Bruce is quick to say. He starts pacing. Oh no, pacing means a lecture. “I am perfectly capable of moving my own equipment, I told you to sit down and wait for me if you wanted to stay.”
“I just wanted to help,” Clark says and he has no idea what’s happening at this point. Is he forgiven? Is he allowed to call Bruce pet names? Does Bruce like pet names?
“I know,” Bruce huffs. “I know.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Why baby girl?”
“Kon’s been over a lot lately.”
“Ah.”
Another moment.
“Wait, who the hell does Kon call baby girl?!”
Aka the “if Clark didn’t do it on purpose” scenario. Stay tuned for the “on purpose” scenario :)
I’m of course kidding. I’m so sorry, anon, I’m typing this on my phone because the idea of Clark panicking had me chuckle into my soda. Excuse the messy response, my writing is rusty and this was just funsies 🙇🏻💕
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a small Part of Alfred will always see Bruce as his baby even if he isn't very outwardly affectionate about it.Clark and Dick stumble across a book of bruce baby photos Alfred secretly keeps and he gives his commentary in his typical Alfred way. Bruce walks in on the cooing and is like ohshitthisisembarissingileavewhydoesheevenhavethesegottaplaythisoff
Just found this page and I am in love btw
Hi sweetie! Sorry about the wait (it did give me time to incorporate the other parts of your prompt though). I wasn’t sure if you wanted Dick as a child or an adult, so I had a wise soul (Thanks, Alpaca, you da real MVP) help me pick one. I hope we picked right! :D
I also had to stop myself from writing more than this - I was beginning to stray from the prompt, as is typical Misha fashion, oops. Oh well, I hope you like it!
There’s a concerning amount of giggling going on in the living room. Not that Bruce minds the giggling - he hasn’t heard it like this in a while, but it’s not a bad sound.
What’s concerning is the fact that he hasn’t seen Clark anywhere and the giggling is very clearly Dick having fun at someone’s expense. There’s really only one potential victim and while it may be Bruce’s paranoia talking, he does know his son and Dick only has one laugh designed to make fun of Bruce. It’s the one that’s booming through the halls this second. Bruce should’ve known better than to leave Clark unattended in the manor while Dick’s home. It’s rare that they have a moment without any of the kids around, but Bruce was almost certain today was one of those rare moments. He should’ve remembered that Dick visiting meant Dick sticking around even after the others had left. Bruce had just figured he’d go with his brothers to the movie. That’s why he’d suggested it. To get at least a few hours alone with Clark.
They’re supposed to have a date night - Clark insists on it and Bruce pretends it’s Clark’s idea in the first place and not something Bruce hinted at for three and a half weeks. No matter whose idea it originally was though, Bruce had some last-minute bat related details to take care of and Clark, the ever graceful not to mention gorgeous oaf of a man had of course merely pecked Bruce on the cheek and said he’d wander around the manor for a minute.
That the minute turned to half an hour isn’t Clark’s fault obviously, but Bruce can’t really be held entirely accountable when his boyfriend is the most patient and understanding man in the history of forever. Still, he should’ve left Clark in the kitchen, or his office. The bedroom, even. He could’ve made a little comment on how Batman likes everything prepared beforehand, or something equally sleazy sounding. Clark would’ve enjoyed that too. But no, of course Bruce’s mind has been too preoccupied with his work, with the mission. He’s getting better at prioritizing differently, but he’s just human. He slips up every once in a while.
Like now, letting Clark roam free along the halls when Richard Grayson just so happens to also be present at the Wayne manor. Bruce should’ve seen it coming from miles away; not only is Dick the biggest Superman fan out there, he’s also a little shit who likes embarrassing or otherwise annoy his father. Normally he wouldn’t mind. It’s a good thing that Clark and Dick get along. But the giggles are piercing his eardrums and he gets increasingly anxious when Clark’s booming laughter joins in. What could be so funny?
Bruce walks towards the living room faster.
“That can’t be Bruce,” Dick laughs and Bruce’s steps falter. He narrows his eyes and walks more quietly. It’s not like Clark won’t hear him approaching either way, but he can image it’ll take him more than half a second this way.
“It’s like he’s never aged at all,” Dick’s voice rings out.
“Look at the little button nose,” Clark coos, and Bruce freezes in the doorway.
Button nose? Just what in the world are they doing in there? If Bruce was an ordinary man, he’d say he was afraid to enter the room, but instead he pretends he has to listen for a few more minutes before he’s truly assessed the situation.
“Did he get that fixed?” Clark asks.
“Oh no, he grew out of that naturally, I’m afraid,” adds Alfred’s voice and Bruce feels betrayal seep into his bones. Alfred wouldn’t- would he?
They’d had this talk before, of course, about Alfred’s weird habit of photographing every moment of Bruce’s childhood. They’d come to a truce of sorts with Bruce allowing Alfred to keep the old pictures if only he’d hide them away never to be seen by anyone else.
Bruce was… Bruce had been a cute child, even he had to admit as much. Chubby and round, expressive blue eyes, a button nose and a few freckles over his cheeks from being outside in the sun too long. Being cute wasn’t exactly at the top of Bruce’s list of accomplishments though and after his parents died, he had a hard time even looking at pictures of himself from before that night. Because that child was gone, his life torn from his body just as much as it had been from his parents that night. At least the life he was supposed to have. So Alfred had silently bowed his head, letting Bruce decide not to have the photos displayed.
At least until now it seems.
“There’s no way those freckles aren’t photoshopped,” Dick says.
Bruce frowns from his hidden position. As if he’d spend precious time photoshopping dots onto his own face just to appear cuter. Youth these days… Bruce hasn’t had freckles in years and he’s certain Alfred has truly betrayed him when he peeks around the corner of the door. Just as he’s predicted Clark and Dick are sitting on the sofa, a large book open in Clark’s lap. He should’ve burned it when he had the chance.
“They didn’t alter photos back then.” Clark flinches and looks apologetically at Alfred. “I mean, not that they’re that old-”
“It’s quite alright, Master Kent,” Alfred reassures. “We did indeed not alter our photos back in the day. Although we wouldn’t have had any need to with Master Bruce’s photos. Those freckles are entirely natural.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I am not, Master Richard.”
“He’s always had dark hair, huh?” Clark asks carefully.
“From the moment he was born, Master Kent,” Alfred agrees. There’s something almost like pride in his voice. Bruce doesn’t want to think about what photos they’re looking at. He can barely remember which photos Alfred has.
“Too bad he won’t grow it out, look how glossy and soft it looks.” Dick points to another photo.
Bruce feels a knot form in his throat. He can’t remember the last time Dick looked at him with such joy – it’s not that they’re not close anymore, but life in Gotham took its toll on Dick. He’s doing better though; Bruce just wishes he didn’t have to look at these old photos to be this happy in the manor. He’d rather nobody ever looked at these photos, but especially Clark and Dick. There’s no reason for them to see what Bruce was like as a child. He’s not like that anymore. Gone are the freckles and the carefree smiles, as well as the wild hair. They’re pictures of a happy child and Bruce is no longer a child.
The happiness part he’s working on. Clark is helping him.
Bruce has heard enough, and he clears his throat discreetly. Alfred doesn’t move an inch. Bruce rolls his eyes, knowing with every fiber of his body that Alfred is well aware he’s there. He’s doing this on purpose.
“Alfred,” he calls quietly. Dick is blabbering loud enough that he hasn’t heard him.
Alfred doesn’t move, but there is a slight tilt to his lips and Bruce wants to stomp his foot like a petulant child.
“Alfred,” he hisses and finally Alfred takes the few steps closer towards the door Bruce needs him to, so that they can talk in private. Well, sort of private, anyway. At least Clark is considerate enough to pretend like he can’t hear their whispered conversation.
“I thought we agreed to keep those hidden,” Bruce says, crossing his arms over his chest to emphasize his annoyance. Alfred, as always, doesn’t give a shit about Bruce’s embarrassment.
“You agreed, sir, I merely complied,” he says as he raises an eyebrow. Bruce deflates like a soggy balloon instantly.
“That’s-” Bruce tries to come up with a decent response, but as is often the case with Alfred, he falls short. “Alfred,” he says instead, voice clearly portraying how displeased he is.
“Bruce,” Alfred echoes in the same voice and Bruce blinks in surprise.
The astonishment must be clear as day on his face because Alfred smiles that secretive yet somehow completely disarming smile of his.
“Look at them,” he says then, and Bruce does.
He’s never been able to disobey Alfred, has never wanted to either. And as always Alfred is right. There’s nothing wrong with the image he’s looking at – it’s his boyfriend and his son looking at photos. It’s not that bad. For a brief moment he just looks at them, enjoying the way Dick is nearly sitting on top of Clark to point out a certain picture.
“They’re enjoying themselves,” Alfred points out, as if Bruce can’t tell that on his own. He avoids saying ‘as am I,’ but Bruce can tell he wants to.
There’s something very domestic about watching his eldest son smile and wave his arms around excitedly. So maybe it isn’t such a bad thing that he’s making fun of Bruce’s baby pictures. It’s not like there’s actually something to be embarrassed about. And Clark is following his every word; Bruce can tell from the way his eyes are focused on Dick’s.
It’s not so bad.
“I don’t get why you still have those,” Bruce still mutters, just to get the last word.
“Because they’re precious to me,” Alfred says, and Bruce can’t find any response to that. The lump in his throat blocks the words from coming out either way, even if he did find something fitting to say. Of course, Alfred must have the final word. He always wins, the old bastard.
Alfred bumps their shoulders together gently and Bruce sends him a shaky smile. Because they’re precious to me. Because you’re precious to me. He doesn’t have to hear the words from Alfred’s mouth to understand them. They don’t talk much about the days before his parents’ murder and he knows that’s his fault. He never realized that maybe Alfred would like to talk about it though, talk about what Bruce was like as a child. Bruce knows how he feels when someone asks about his children and even if Alfred isn’t his blood, he’s the closest thing to a father Bruce has. He should’ve been more considerate.
Dick finally notices him and snatches the photo album from Clark’s lap to hold it up. He looks to Clark and then to the photo album before locking eyes with Bruce.
“Look how similar they are,” he says with a grin.
“It is my face,” Bruce deadpans as he finally walks into the living room.
“Yeah, but who would’ve thought you’d been such a cute baby.”
“A cute baby?” Bruce holds a hand to his chest in mock-hurt. “I was obviously the cutest baby.”
It makes Dick laugh, which was his goal. He really can’t remember what he looked like as a kid. It can’t be that much different from now. He steps closer to peek over Clark’s shoulder. Huh. So maybe there’s something about that. It’s a very cute baby indeed looking back at him from all the pictures and- just how many does Alfred have of him in nothing but a diaper? He turns to glare at his butler. In true Alfred fashion he merely raises an elegant eyebrow.
“The expression’s different though, baby-you didn’t frown like that,” Dick says as he reaches up to try to smooth out the line between Bruce’s brows. He’s too quick for Bruce to swat at him, dancing around his father like natural gymnast he is. Bruce is both proud and annoyed, which is very much on brand emotions whenever Dick is near him.
“Doesn’t make you any less cute though,” Clark chimes in.
“Ew,” Dick says just as Bruce mutters: “Shut up.”
Alfred stands in the doorway and watches his boys bicker for a while longer. He knows it was a risk to leave the photo album out on the sofa, but it turned out alright after all. Sometimes all Bruce Wayne needs to see reason is a little push. Alfred doesn’t mind being the one pushing. Especially when it means he gets to share the pictures of Bruce’s first day of school. Those are a favorite of Master Kent’s as well, and Alfred silently thanks the higher powers that Clark can’t get Bruce pregnant. He’s pretty sure they’d have babies running around nonstop and Alfred is too old for infants.
He wouldn’t mind another child though. Maybe he should hint at adoption. Master Kent is more than ready to take the bait judging from the heart eyes he’s been sending the photo album all afternoon. Alfred smiles as he leaves for the kitchen. It’s time for tea.
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