#and im not gonna refer to a toddler’s dad as ‘dad’ when they respond to ‘daddy’ better

[starry-bi-sky]

Debuting Preparations

To avoid confusion, Danny will be referred to as ‘Danny’ rather than Thomas. This is a little snippet I thought of for my ‘Danny Fenton is Thomas Wayne au’ (different name pending)

OG Post

Miscellaneous Stuff P1

Miscellaneous Stuff P2

“How do I look, Boo?” Danny asked, his hands falling away from the tie wrapped around his neck as his eyes dropped to the little two year old next to him.

Bruce grinned toothily at him, raising his arms in a silent demand for uppies that Danny naturally had to follow. “Awesome, daddy!” He yelled, his voice layered with a toddler accent while his small legs hooked around Danny’s waist the moment he had him settled on his hip.

Danny matched his grin tooth-for-tooth, fingers digging into his ribs for a quick tickle as he blew a raspberry into Bruce’s cheek. Bruce squealed with laughter, and Danny dipped them both, laughing as he straightened up and Bruce tried to wriggle out of his arms.

“Good!” He said, removing the fingers from Bruce’s ribs and twisting to face the floor-length mirror. “We wouldn’t want daddy to look not awesome today, would we?” His cheek pressed against Bruce’s little black curls and Bruce leaned his head against his shoulder.

Bruce shook his head, his cheeks red with laughter. “Nooo.”

“No.” Danny agreed, his ghostly core purring low in content as he planted a kiss on the top of his son’s head. “We would not.”

Ask him three years ago when he was in the prime of his ghost-fighting days if he knew that he’d be living in Wayne Manor with a clone-son under the name Thomas Wayne, and Danny would have straight up just called you crazy. But here he was, in Wayne Manor, under the name Thomas Wayne, with a two year old son on his hip.

Some things are just too good to be true.

(Of course that’s if you ignore all the bullshit that happened along the way that ended with Danny being here.)

Now he was standing in a bedroom that was as big as the lab back home, preparing for his debut as the newly adopted son Thomas Wayne. Anyone who was anyone would be there, his new family seldom threw parties that weren’t charity balls, and even now his debut would have donation boxes for the various programs and charities in Gotham and outside of it.

He was in the nicest three-piece suit that he could afford (which was a lot now that he was part of the Wayne family,) and his normally fluffy black hair was slicked back and styled, showing off the pearl studs that Danny stole from Mrs. Wayne’s jewelry box.

(“Stole” as if Mrs. Wayne “call me Miriam” hadn’t gifted them to him.)

He looked like an entirely different person in the mirror. He didn’t look like runaway teen dad Daniel Fenton, ex-vigilante Phantom.

And that…

That was good. That was so good.

He looked like Thomas Nightingale-turned-Wayne. Still a teen dad, but just a regular one. Not a vigilante, not the son of ghost hunters. Just the adopted son of the very rich and philanthropic Wayne couple. He looked like just Thomas.

He smiled at himself in the mirror, a wriggling feeling of awe thrumming through his chest as he turned his head this way and that, looking for every little reminder of his past afterlife that didn’t take the form of his scars. The pearls glittered in his ears, adding to him an elegance that he didn’t know he possessed.

Danny wondered… if he changed now to Phantom, would he still look the same? Identity was everything to a ghost; who they were and what they present as is all that remains of them after death. It shows the world what the most important aspects of themself was. It shows the world what they thought was important.

If Danny’s changed, does that mean Phantom did too?

A loud series of knocks dragged him out of his introspection. Bruce wriggled out of his arms, and Danny put him down before he could be dropped, and then he faced the door. “Come in!” He called, his nerves igniting under his skin and he folded his hands behind his back in response.

The doorknob twisted, then clicked, and then the door swung open. Alfred Pennyworth, the new butler and predecessor of the old butler, also a Pennyworth, stood stiffly under the frame. “Master Thomas,” he greeted, the picture of butler formality in a suit, “it’s nearly time for you and Master Patrick and Mistress Miriam to leave for your debut gala, the car has been parked out front and is ready to leave when you are ready.”

Danny smiled easily at Alfred, watching Bruce from the corner of his eye as he exclaimed ‘Alfred!’ before darting toward him and latching onto his legs. Alfred’s only been with them for a few weeks and Bruce had warmed up significantly to the young man. Which was saying something because Bruce never warmed up to anyone that wasn’t Danny, or Mr. and Mrs. Wayne.

“Thanks Alfred.” He said, walking over in just a few quick strides, “And please, it’s just Thomas.” He’s been having growth spurts ever since he joined the Wayne household last year and now was edging closer to his dad’s height at a solid over-six-foot. Albeit with none of the muscle, apparently he inherited his mom’s litheness.

Plucking Bruce off of the ground, his son automatically reached for Alfred, and Danny saw the barest of smiles on the corner of Alfred’s mouth as he took Bruce from him. “I’m afraid I will have to continue referring to you as Master Thomas, Master Thomas.“

“One day I’ll convince you.” Danny joked, waiting for Alfred to step out of the doorway before moving down the hallway. “You can’t keep calling me Master Thomas forever!” He’s annoyed stubborner people into doing what he wants before, he’ll wear down Alfred eventually.

“I do believe I can, Master Thomas.” Alfred quipped lightly, adjusting his hold on Bruce so that he was better situated on his hip. Bruce was playing with his tie again, ignoring their conversation in all the ways a two year old can. An easy sort of innocence that Danny never failed to be endeared by.

He pulled on the sleeves of his suit-jacket thoughtlessly, the small silvery cufflinks shimmering from the corner of his eye, trying to demand for Danny’s attention. He knows it got Bruce’s, his son’s head snapping away from Alfred’s tie to watch his wrists. Like a cat watching a laser-pointer.

Danny laughed softly and twisted his wrists slowly, letting the cufflinks glitter under the lights. Bruce’s pupils began to dilate, and the tips of his ears — rounder than Danny’s but pointier than a regular human’s — twitched very slightly.

Bruce held his arms out towards his wrists, leaning out of Alfred’s grasp to grab them. “See—! Let me see!” He demanded, nearly falling out of Alfred’s hold. Alfred’s hand shot out to grab him before he could tumble out of his arms, a look of momentary panic flashing over his face.

“Master Bruce!” He exclaimed, and then he took on a more scolding look. “You have to be careful, you can’t throw yourself out of someone’s arms like that!”

Bruce wriggled with a loud, child-like whine. “I wanna see! Pretty!” He said, then tried reaching for Danny again.

“Please, Boo.” Danny reminded, circling his palm over his chest, but he was already holding his arms out to Bruce to take him. Bruce might be as close to human as he could get with the extra benefits, but he still had some ghostly habits. Being attracted to sudden shiny things was one of them.

“Please.” Bruce repeated, pressing his hand to his chest and making a small circle. It wasn’t a perfect please, but it was the best he could do at two. Danny took him from Alfred and gave him his wrist as he settled him on his side.

Danny ran his fingers through Bruce’s hair and stroked his cheek. Bruce merely played with his cufflinks, pulling on the silver buttons and turning them this way and that to try and catch the light. “Alfred’s right, you can’t lean out like that, Boo. You could get hurt.”

Bruce didn’t look up and didn’t respond, so Danny lightly pinched his cheek. Although ‘pinch’ wouldn’t be the right term for it. He mimicked the pinching gesture and held his cheek, but didn’t actually use any pressure. It was just to get his attention. He lightly shook his cheek, “Did you hear me, Boo? We ask to get down if we want to get down, okay?”

“Okay.” Bruce said, glancing up at him briefly only to look back down at his cufflinks a moment later. With a soft huff Danny dropped his hand and tightened his hold.

“Can we say sorry to Alfred then? It really scared him when you nearly fell.” Scared was an exaggeration, and Danny saw Alfred give him a bemused look from the corner of his eye.

Again, Bruce looked up for only a moment, and this time he looked at Alfred. “Bruce is sorry Alfred.” He said, tiny fingers crunched around Danny’s sleeve. His ‘Alfred’ sounded more like an ‘Al-fed’, and Alfred smiled endearingly even when Bruce dropped his head back down a second later.

Danny huffed low again, shooting Alfred an apologetic smile as he pulled his hand out of Bruce’s little grasp and stroked his hair. “We’re getting there.”

————taglist————

@vipower001

@storm-and-fire

@blankliferain

@chrysanthemum9484

@mnemovoid

@blueflipflops (why not? I remember mentioning i’d tag you if I make a oneshot, lmk if you dont wanna be tagged)

@steampunkunicorn01 (I remember you asked for a tag too in my og post)

@the-legal-shipper

@skulld3mort-1fan

Its not exactly a fic but its a oneshot so it kinda counts. Lmk if any of yall dont wanna get tagged in any future oneshots or continuations (or if you would but only for specific posts)

Extra note: Bruce’s behavior and dialogue is based off of how i’ve seen actual two year olds act and speak (which can differ based on where they are developmentally and as a two year old. If they’ve recently turned two, they could still be speaking essentially broken english. Then as they get closer to three they start speaking in more complete sentences. I know two little girls who referred to themselves in third person for a while, hence the ‘Bruce is sorry’.) I’m a daycare teacher so I’ve seen a lot of two year olds, so its written to my best abilities while avoiding common ‘child writing stereotypes’.