Work Text:
The NYPD had just closed one of the worst serial killer cases they'd seen since The Surgeon: a serial killer that targeted Littles.
It took an entire month for them to unravel the bastard's identity. In that time, the son of a bitch managed to steal the innocent lives of four more Littles, bringing his total number of victims to sixteen.
He turned out to be an elementary school teacher by the name of Bradley Evans, a thirty year old Neutral who turned out to have an irrational hatred for Littles. He found his victims to through his students' families, taking advantage of parent-teacher conferences and school events that involved the whole community. To make matters even worse, both the evidence at the crime scenes and the autopsy reports showed that the Littles had been regressed during the time of their death.
It sickened Gil to his core and filled his veins with a rage like no other when he thought about what those Littles' final moments must have been like. How terrified and helpless they must have felt. How they must have cried for their Caregivers until their last breath. Come the trial, Gil would be damned if he didn't see the bastard get life after everything he's done.
For now, however, Gil and the rest of New York could rest easy knowing that the monster who terrorized their city was finally in police custody.
If only Malcolm Bright allowed himself to bask in that relief, too.
Malcolm had been beating himself up and drowning in guilt over Evans' last four victims–Alyssa Walker, Patricia Jones, Jessica Trent, and Carl Campbell. He blamed himself for not putting his profiler together quicker, for not catching the signs sooner when him and the team first questioned Evans. Gil told him countless times over the last couple weeks that he was not at all responsible for their deaths, that the only one responsible was Bradley Evans himself, but Malcolm just couldn't see past the part of his mind that told him he had failed. And when Malcolm got stuck in his head like this, he needed to spend some quality time in headspace so he could be free of his adult thoughts and come back later in a better mindset to process everything.
It was easier said than done, though. When Malcolm was in a downward guilt spiral, it was a lot harder to verbally convince him that a drop was necessary. More often than not, Gil had to initiate it by force. He didn't like having to do it that way, but Malcolm was a stubborn creature by nature, so Gil was never really left with any other options.
Which is how Gil found himself having to practically wrestle Malcolm into his car seat in the back of the LeMans so he could take the kid back home with him to be taken care of.
"Gil, stop it!" Malcolm yelled, continuing to struggle as Gil strapped him into the black and blue mesh seat. "Seriously, stop! I told you; I don't need to be little!"
"You're a fussy boy tonight, aren't you, pumpkin?" Gil just cooed, ignoring his son's blatant pre-drop tantrum. "It's been a long, hard day. I understand, bug. That's why daddy is going to take you home with him and give you the care you need."
"No! I don't–I don't deserve t'be little!" Malcolm's voice cracked, and he very briefly paused to regain his composure. "Not... not after everything that happened with this case."
Gil bit his tongue and refused to respond to that. As difficult as it was not to refute the boy's heartbreaking words and reassure him that that wasn't the truth, Gil knew that sticking to the "babying method" would be the only way to get his son to regress. The second he strayed off that path and acknowledged Malcolm in an adult manner, would only make it that much harder to get him to drop.
"Alright, honeybunch," Gil began, pulling back once he finished getting Malcolm buckled in. "Time to go home now."
Gil closed the back passenger side door and went around to climb into the driver's seat.
"Aaaaahgh!" Malcolm arched his back and desperately pulled on the straps that went across his chest. "Lemme out, Gil! Lemme out!" Malcolm screeched, frustration dripping from his words.
"How about a story, hm?"
Gil connected his phone to the car and opened up Spotify, scrolling through his library until he found the playlist of short kids' audio stories. He clicked play on the classic story of Peter and the Wolf, one of Malcolm's favorites since childhood. The car was instantly filled with the light but cheery voice of a woman saying the title of the story before getting right into the narration.
"Early one morning,
Peter opened the gate,
and went out into the big green meadow."
Malcolm let out another frustrated sound and began to kick at the back of the passenger seat just as Gil pulled the car out into the road.
"No, no, no! I don't want a stupid little kid's story! I'm a... I'm a big b–I'm big, dammit!"
"Don't worry, baby. We'll be home soon. Then we can get into some comfy clothes, eat something yummy, and maybe we can even watch an episode of The Powerpuff Girls or My Little Pony before bed."
Malcolm's breath hitched in his chest and his face momentarily twisted up like he was going to burst into tears, but in the next second his features settled back into a forced scowl, and he was back to fighting to escape his car seat. That alone, however, showed that the young man's headspace was getting even closer to breaching the surface of his mind. Gil just had to keep him on the path that led to a drop.
"Daddy was also thinking it would probably be best if you slept in his bed tonight. Would you like that, bug? To sleep in the big bed with daddy?"
When he stopped at a red light, Gil peered into the rearview mirror at his son and could see his resolve quickly waning. Malcolm's attempts at getting out of the car seat were slowing as his motor skills drastically began to weaken, and Gil could see his limbs starting to tremble with the force it was taking for him not to regress. It would happen any minute now, though. Gil just needed to give him one last little push.
"Malcolm, firefly, you can be as small as you need to be. Daddy loves getting to take care of you, no matter how little or big you are. I love you. So, so much, Mal."
Like a switch had been flipped, the remainder of Malcolm's resolve crumbled, all of the fight draining out of him in an instant as he finally gave in to his headspace.
"D-da-daddy! Daddyyyyyy!" Malcolm wailed, breaking into gut-wrenching sobs.
"I know, pumpkin, I know." Keeping his gaze on the road and one hand on the steering wheel, Gil reached back with the other and took Malcolm's hand and gave it a firm but comforting squeeze. "I'm here. Daddy's right here, baby boy. It's okay, we're almost home."
Gil kept ahold of Malcolm's hand for the remainder of the drive as the now regressed young man continued to weep. Fortunately, though, it was only another five minutes before Gil was parking out front of his house.
"I'm gonna let go and come right around to get you out, okay, pumpkin?" Gil gave the boy's hand one last squeeze before letting go.
"N-no!" Malcolm cried as Gil unbuckled himself and climbed out of the car. "Daddy!"
Gil hurried around the car to Malcolm's side and pulled the door open. "It's okay, I'm here, bub. Daddy's got you," he soothed, immediately unbuckling the little boy from the car seat and gathering him up in his arms.
Malcolm threw his arms and legs around Gil like he was afraid he would otherwise disappear, burying his face into the crook of the older man's neck with a sob that sounded more out of relief than distress.
Gil rubbed a hand down Malcolm's back and lightly bounced him. "You're okay, kiddo. I've gotcha."
Now that Malcolm had full bodily contact with Gil, his sobbing and tears were quickly coming to an end. By the time Gil reached the porch and was unlocking the door, all that remained of Malcolm's upset were shuddery breaths and wet sniffles. After locking the door behind them and toeing off his own shoes, Gil took Malcolm upstairs to the little boy's nursery.
The first thing Gil did when they arrived to the nursery was wipe up the tears and snot from Malcolm's ruddy face. He then stripped him out of his adult clothing and accessories and put him into a Mickey Mouse pull-up and a pair of footie pajamas covered in teddy bears. Malcolm was yawning and tiredly rubbing his eyes by the end of Gil getting him undressed. The kid hadn't eaten or drank anything today except for candy and coffee, though, so before Gil could put him to bed, he needed to get some actual food and water into him first.
"Daddy?"
Gil peered over his shoulder at Malcolm from where he'd been in the very back of the nursery's walk-in closet putting away the kid's adult things.
"What is it, bub?"
"Where's Kee-Kee an' blankie?" Malcolm asked, leaning up against the closet's doorframe as he looked back at Gil with an adorable sleepy expression on his face.
Gil had to take a second to remember where Malcolm had left the stuffed dinosaur and crocheted blanket the last time he regressed.
"Ah, right," Gil murmured to himself when it finally came to him. "Kee-Kee should be in your toy chest, and blankie should be in your crib. Would you like me to get them for you?"
Malcolm shook his head, seeming to regain a bit of energy now that he had something else to focus on.
"Can do it, daddy."
"Alright then, pumpkin. As soon as I'm done with this, we'll go downstairs and get something to eat, okay?"
Malcolm nodded again. "Can we has fishy sticks, p'ease?"
"Sounds good to me, kiddo."
A tiny smile curled the corners of Malcolm's lips before he turned and headed for his toy chest.
After Gil finished putting away all of Malcolm's things away, walked out of the closet and shut the door behind him. Malcolm now sat on the floor leaning up against his crib with his blanket wrapped snuggly around his shoulders, making the green dinosaur in his hand dance and walk across the carpet in front of him. Seeing that that sleepy look on Malcolm's face was starting to make a fast return, Gil was quick to scoop him back up and take him down to the kitchen.
"Would you like to play something on daddy's phone, bug?" Gil asked after setting Malcolm down at the table.
"Uh-huh!" Malcolm immediately replied, excitedly bobbing his head up and down as he set his dinosaur plush on the chair next to him.
Gil didn't normally allow Malcolm much–if any at all–screen time that wasn't only a couple hours of TV, but he thought it best to make an exception for the moment as a way to keep Malcolm awake until he could feed him and so the man could keep an eye on him at the same time.
After choosing and opening up the app called Drawing Games: Draw and Color, Gil handed the device over to Malcolm.
With his son occupied for the moment, Gil moved to pull the fish sticks out of the freezer. He lined twenty up on a small sheet pan (enough for the both of them) and put them in the toaster oven for thirty minutes. While he waited for them to heat up, he sat down with Malcolm at the table and joined him in his game; helping the boy choose which colors and pictures to go with when he struggled to make a decision on his own, constantly offering him praise and encouragement after every single one.
When the toaster oven's timer went off, Gil took the fish sticks out and left them to cool for a few minutes while he got something to drink for Malcolm and himself. He grabbed a blue sippy cup with the word 'cheers' written on the front from up in the cupboard, filling it with apple juice cut with water, then got himself a simple glass of ice cold water. He then grabbed a plastic polka dotted plate and filled it with Malcolm's portion of fish sticks and a decent amount of ranch on the side, before putting his own plate together with a side of buffalo sauce.
"Okay, firefly, time to put the phone away and eat now," Gil said, placing their plates on the table.
Malcolm didn't protest, easily handing the device back over to the man. Any other night Malcolm may have probably tried to puppy-face his way into an extra five minutes of screen time, but tonight he was clearly much more interested in the prospect of food. Which Gil would certainly not take for granted when it came to his son actually wanting to eat.
A comfortable silence fell over the room as the two of them dug into their respective meal. Gil did have to occasionally remind Malcolm to slow down (lest the kid accidentally choke from how he was practically inhaling his food), but otherwise it was a peaceful, silent dinner affair.
Once they were done, Gil took the plates to the sink (which he would wait till morning to wash) and wet a couple of paper towels to clean Malcolm's ranch and crumb covered face with. The little boy fussed some at the action, but still allowed Gil to wipe his face down. Gil then rinsed out Malcolm's now empty sippy cup and refilled it with water.
"Alright, bubba, you ready for bed now?"
"Nu-uh," Malcolm responded around a yawn. "Nah yet, daddy. Wanna watch ponies."
"Are you sure you're not too sleepy, babyface?"
Malcolm shook his head, visibly holding back another yawn. "You say'ed we could watch a ep'sode b'fore bed."
Gil couldn't help the amused chuckle that left him. "I did technically say that, didn't I? Alright, we can watch an episode. But only one, remember?"
"Uh-huh! Jus' one, daddy." A tired but happy smile lit up Malcolm's face.
Gil returned his son's smile, handing Malcolm his sippy cup and dinosaur before lifting him up and adjusting him on his hip.
"Okay, then. Let's go watch some ponies, baby."