Sleepover - Chapter 4

Bertie sat atop the soft felt play mat in his button up PJs with Spike in his lap, arranging his little plastic dinosaur toys in a semi-circle around his crossed legs. He picked up one - a Triceratops - and examined it closely, smiling in satisfaction as he noted its relative accuracy. So much of the dinosaur stuff that was made for kids - especially the really little kid stuff that Arthur tended to get him - was horribly unscientific, approaching more of a cartoonist's vague notion of a dinosaur than any real paleontological example. These were different however. They were more replicas than toys, or at least that was what Bertie liked to tell himself.

Of course, Bertie would have much rather have been watching television or playing on the computer than looking over his dinosaur toys for the dozenth time, but ever since Arthur had commented on him being grumpy when he spent too long playing video games, his mother had instituted a strict one hour daily limit on screen time. Bertie was trying to save his hour today, hoping to catch the newest episode of Dinosaur Planet on the nature channel that evening. It was on at 9pm, but he was pretty sure he could convince his mother to make an exception to his strict 8pm bedtime and let him stay up late.  At the very least he wouldn’t have Arthur to contend with.

Spring Break had finally come to an end, and although Bertie still had his work cut out avoiding Arthur on the playground, his mother no longer felt the need to muster his self-appointed babysitter to “keep him company” while she was at work. Bertie had managed to sign up for an after school activity to fill the gap between the end of class and his mom picking him up  every day of the week.  Fridays was soccer, and though Bertie found it positively exhausting keeping up with his much larger classmates, it certainly beat being babied. He’d decided to change into his PJs as soon as he’d gotten home that day, slipping into the cozy articles immediately after stripping off his muddy sweat-stained soccer kit. Even without Arthur’s infantilizing influence, he still liked to wear his pajamas around the house. They were infinitely more comfortable than all of his other clothes, after all.

Bertie grumbled at the thought of the larger boy, still very conflicted as to how exactly he felt about the nosy neighbor boy who had changed his life in so very many ways. After spending nearly the whole Spring Break in Arthur’s care, he was definitely sick of all the baby stuff - but by the end he was finding the infantile treatment a lot more bearable than he had initially. He would never admit it to Arthur, but was almost nice to have someone wait on him hand and foot - as long as he didn’t have to leave the house and risk anyone else seeing.

There were certainly benefits to having Arthur around. Take the dinosaur replicas, for instance. Bertie had begged his mother for months to buy him that set, but she’d constantly balked at the price - telling him to wait for his next birthday. Arthur on the other hand was constantly buying him little treats. Just last week, he’d announced that Bertie deserved a special reward for doing so well with the potty as of late. The boy had pouted at the childish implications at first, but when Arthur had told him he could have any toy he wanted, he’d directed the larger boy straight to the Natural History Museum website. The models had arrived the very next day, Bertie waking to find an enticing package in dinosaur-themed wrapping paper sitting at the end of his bed.

“Having fun?”

Bertie gave a start as he looked up from his toys, surprised to see the huge frame of Arthur occupying his doorway. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, his tone somewhere between surprise and petulant poutiness. Immediately concerned that the question had come off as too hostile, he offered a sweet smile in mitigation. Arthur didn’t look particularly bothered however, striding across the room to sit cross legged beside the tiny teen.

“Don’t you remember?” he inquired,  stretching out a single finger to bop Bertie on his button nose.

The little boy maintained his dumbfounded stare. Remember what? He gave a shrug, trying to construct a faux-mature facade of adolescent disinterest.

“It’s our special sleepover!!” Arthur announced, turning up his lips into an electrifying smile and stretching out his hand to offer a high-five.

Bertie slapped the hand weakly, but his sheepish expression revealed his true feelings “A sleepover?” he repeated tiredly, already dreading all the embarrassing things that might go wrong.

“That’s right, buddy. Over at my house. You excited?”

“I guess…” he said tepidly, vaguely remembering Arthur suggesting something of that sort the last time he’d talked to his mom. He’d barely been paying attention at the time, eyes glued to the TV screen - but it seems that Arthur had actually gone ahead and set a date. He pursed his lips, remembering his own date with the TV that very night “Can we watch Dinosaur Planet?”

“Sure thing.”

Bertie nodded. A sleepover was the classic excuse to stay up past his absurdly early bedtime afterall. Besides, they weren’t going out - so no one would see, no matter how bad the baby treatment got. He gave a skeptical smile, “Alright…”

“Alright, buddy!” Arthur repeated a lot more enthusiastically. He stretched out his hands, enveloping the smaller boy in his grasp and heaving him into a hug with a grunt of excursion, Spike tumbling out of his arms and falling  on the mat. Just as he was lowering him down into his lap however, Arthur took in a loud, comically exaggerated sniff. “Phew-ee, buddy! You stink!”

“I don’t…” Bertie protested weakly, but Arthur just smiled - bouncing him up and down a little as he cuddled him close.

“Did someone make a smelly poo-poo in his Pampers?” he asked with a mischievous smile, tickling around Bertie’s tummy and down to his pajama waistband as if to check for a non-existent diaper.

“I don’t wear pampers!” Bertie shouted out immediately, making his grave offense known with a murderous scowl. He couldn’t believe it! It had barely been 2 minutes, and already Arthur was laying it on thick. He balled up his fists in anger, reaching across the playmate to grasp at Spike with his pudgy cocktail sausage fingers.

“Ohh, your Huggies then?” Arthur continued to tease.

“No! I-”

“Your pull-ups?”

“NO! I wear underpants! Regular underpants…”

In truth, Bertie’s cutesy dino-themed briefs could hardly be described as ‘regular’ - but stil, it was the principle of the matter. They still certainly outpaced a baby’s diapers. 

Arthur chuckled at the sight of Bertie’s red faced outrage, giving him a reassuring peck on the cheek “I know, bud. I was only teasing. You're a big boy.” Bertie maintained his hostile grimace, only relaxing and sinking into Arthur’s embrace when the larger boy negotiated a reassuring hand under his pajama top and laid it against his bare tummy. “You’ve been doing such a good job going potty like a big kid - that’s why I bought you your special dino toys, remember?”

The smaller boy gave a nod, still a little shaken by the joke. As much baby stuff as he’d been forced to endure, even the idea of wearing a diaper represented a hard barrier that elicited an unique kind of terror.

“I don’t wear diapers.” he spat out, attaching a special degree of scorn to the last word. He looked up at Arthur for reassurance, and to his relief the larger boy nodded in agreement.

“I know. You really do reek though, bud.” he reasserted “Did your mommy not give you your bath yet?”

Bertie’s heart sunk in realization. It was true, he hadn’t washed up - and with all the running around he probably did stink to high heaven, even if he’d gotten used to his own stench. He had thought that he could save the time-consuming activity for the next morning, feeling assured that with his mother present he would be free of Arthur’s interference. It would seem he had made a serious miscalculation.

“No…” he whispered, immediately regretting the admission as Arthur sprang to his feet, securing Bertie against his hip. He clung onto Spike for dear life, convinced that his grip on his fuzzy friend was the only thing preventing him from bursting into tears.

“Come on then, buddy. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“No!” the boy objected “Put me down!”  To his shame, his mewling protests were indistinguishable from those of any other uncooperative little boy at bath time. Seeing the determination in Arthur’s eyes however, he wasn’t above turning to an even more babyish tactic - calling for his mother. “Mommy!” he wailed, sounding every bit as infantile as he appeared, hysterical and hyperventilating.

“Aww, buddy.” Arthur sympathized, mistaking his attempt at tattling for an innocent little kid’s demand for comfort. “Mommy’s not here right now, she already went out to meet her friend. Don’t worry though. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

Bertie’s heart sunk, the inevitably of his situation fully dawning on him. He adopted a pair of pleading puppy dog eyes, quivering as he entreated his babysitter for mercy. “Please…I don’t wanna bath..”

“Don’t be silly.” Arthur chided “Don’t you want to get all nice and squeaky clean?” He shuttled the boy over the room so that he was hovering over his bed. “Let go of Spike, buddy. Remember the rules about bathtime.”

Bertie did as he was told, letting out a sigh of anguish as the comforting stuffed animal tumbled down past the bed rails onto the sheets. He felt his face burn hot red as Arthur carried him swiftly down the corridor towards the bathroom, his panic only intensified by the absence of the stuffed animal on which he relied so much.

“I c…can do it m…myself…” he stumbled to explain, but Arthur wasn’t listening - shushing him soothingly as he patted him on his pajama-clad bottom.

The boy’s assertion was true, not that it would have made any difference. Despite what Arthur had said, Bertie’s mother never supervised his bath times any more - although she did insist that he take a bath instead of a shower. Bertie never had been very co-ordinated after all, and standing up in the slippery tub was just too much of a risk.

Bertie snuggled his face obstinately into Arthur’s shoulder as he heard the water begin to cascade onto the ceramic, trying not to think about what he knew was coming. He was soon forcibly stripped of his sanctuary however as Arthur took hold of his pajama bottoms and slipped them down around his ankles, placing him gently down on the potty seat above the toilet.

“Try and go pee, buddy.” he instructed, “We don’t want any accidents in the tub, do we?”

“I don’t have to go…” Bertie whined, but Arthur only smiled and tousled his hair - leaning down to preoccupy himself perfecting the temperature and adding a large squeeze of bubble bath.

Eventually, the water was ready. Satisfied that Bertie had managed to produce a tiny tinkling of wee, Arthur unbuttoned his pajama shirt and took him up into his arms again - carrying him over towards the tub. Bertie had been naked  - or at least half naked - in front of Arthur on a dozen other occasions on account of the larger boy’s insistence on supervising him ‘go potty', but as his body made contact with the lukewarm water he felt that he was the most exposed that it was even possible to be.

As the larger boy began to scrub his arms gently with a flannel, Bertie was at last overtaken by his emotions. A first tear finally emerged from the corner of his eye - running hotly down his flushed cheek.

“Alright, buddy. It’s alright.” Arthur cooed as he continued to scrub, but Bertie only sobbed harder as the flannel migrated across his smooth body to increasingly more private areas. Eventually, he was weeping inconsolably, finally prompting Arthur to let up. The larger boy gave him a sympathetic frown, searching in his pockets and producing a T-rex themed pacifier “You want your binky?”

Bertie was horribly ashamed, but he gave a series of impatient nods as he caught sight of the babyish implement. He started to nurse enthusiastically as soon as the teat made contact with his lips, happy for any consolation in the absence of Spike. Arthur hummed tunefully, lulling Bertie’s panicked breath into a slow stable rhythm again.

“Oh, buddy.” Arthur commented disapprovingly as the flannel finally arrived at his back side “I think we need to do a better job wiping, huh?” Bertie let out a guttural howl into his binky, but didn’t articulate any response to the humiliating comment - feeling entirely helpless “Don’t worry, bud. We can work on it some other time.”

After that, the only thing that remained was for Arthur to wash his hair. He used a small plastic cup to wet the long cascading locks before gently massaging the shampoo into the boy’s golden curls. Bertie cringed as some of the stinging gel got into his eyes, but he refused to let himself start crying again - sucking stoically in and out on his pacifier as the shampoo was washed away.

Although he was an emotional wreck, Bertie felt strangely renewed by the time Arthur helped him out of the tub. The taller boy produced a warm green hooded towel, wrapping it around Bertie’s little form. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, Bertie realized that the towel had a dinosaur theme, a number of little spikes poking out atop the hood. He vaguely remembered the article from his real toddlerhood, figuring it was yet another relic Arthur had recovered from storage.

“Feeling better, Bertie-saurus?” Arthur asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Bertie gave a curt nod, glad that the ordeal was finally over. Arthur lifted him into the air again, hugging him tightly “Awww. It’s alright. Nothing a big cuddle can’t fix huh? Do you wanna give me a roar?”

“Roar…” Bertie squealed softly, almost instinctively. The pacifier went tumbling from his mouth as he did so - Arthur quickly darting out his hand to catch it before it fell to the floor.

“Good boy.” he praised, cupping one soft hand around his terrycloth-clad head and gently offering the pacifier again with the other. Bertie accepted the silicone teat gratefully, immediately starting to steadily nurse once more. “Now, let’s go and pack a bag for our sleepover, okay?”

Arthur rocked the boy tenderly as he carried him back into his room, depositing him delicately down on to his bed. He cuddled up with Spike again, endlessly grateful to be reunited with his plated pal.

“Two dino buddies.” Arthur commented happily, prompting a grunt of agreement from Bertie around his pacifier. “Stay there for the moment, bud. I’ve got another present for you waiting downstairs.”

Bertie, still feeling a little down, perked up at the mention of presents. He reclined happily onto his cuddly warm bed sheets, hugging Spike under his arm and staring wistfully up at the ceiling as he imagined what Arthur might have bought him. Could it be a sugary treat? A DVD? A toy? It couldn’t possibly be something as good as his dinosaur replicas, but just the mystery was alluring enough. Bertie would be happy with anything, so long as it wasn’t something too babyish. He’d had quite enough of that sort of thing for one day.

Soon Arthur reappeared, a little clear plastic wrapped package containing several pairs of folded up dinosaur themed briefs in green, orange and purple.  Bertie crooked his head curiously “Undah-pans?” he babbled, realizing too late that his binky was still bobbing between his lips. He popped it out, resting the soggy silicone nipple on his bed.

“That’s right, new undies!”

“I’ve already got underpants.”

That was true enough. Not only had he been making ample use of Aunt Linda’s original offending package, Arthur’s excavation of the garage had made certain that his underwear drawer contained nothing but toothy t-rexes, vibrant velociraptors, and smiling stegosauri. What was so special about another dino-adorned set?

“Not like these.” Arthur explained, fishing out a pair and holding them aloft “These are special.”

Bertie cringed in embarrassment as he noticed the crucial difference - a thick package of absorbent cotton padding stitched into the front of the fabric, just under the applique image of a happy pair of smiling cartoon triceratopses.

The boy let out a little squeak of discontent, shuffling back shly further onto the bed “I’m not wearing them.” he stated obstinately, although he already knew at the back of his mind that he had little chance of resisting the bigger boy.

“Come on, bud.” Arthur coaxed, sitting down casually where Bertie had been a moment before.  With the wall blocking one side, and the bed rail and Arthur covering the other, the little boy was now trapped on the bed - cowering in the corner in just his dinosaur towel. “Just give them a try.”

Bertie shook his head, clinging protectively onto Spike. He’d tolerated a lot of babyishness, but this was just one step too close to diapers. “They’re for babies.” he whined childishly “I wear regular briefs.”

“Babies wear diapers, and you certainly don’t wear those anymore. Look, you’ll still be able to pull them on and off all by yourself.” Arthur reasoned, demonstrating the cotton training pants’ stretchy waistband with a pair of strong fingers.

“I don’t wanna.” Bertie moaned “Why do I hafta’”

“It’s not a big deal, but I’m not always gonna be around to help with your little potty emergencies. This way, if you end up making a little tinkle, it won’t cause such a big mess.”

“I’m not gonna tinkle.” the tiny boy scoffed “I don’t even have accidents. That’s such something you made up.”

Arthur laughed dismissively at the claim. “Come on, buddy. You’ve been doing really well lately, but you’re not quite there yet. You went wee-wee all over yourself the first day I was looking after you, and you would have gone poo poo in your pants at the diner if I hadn’t reminded you.”

“I wouldn’t….”

“It's best if you have a little bit of back up.” Arthur pressed on unabated “Your mommy thinks so too.”

Bertie displayed a disbelieving gape “She does not!”

“She does so, buddy. She wanted to get the disposabal kind of pull ups when she heard about your potty accidents, but I told her you could handle just these.”

The boy shook his head in shocked dissatisfaction. He was certain that Arthur wasn’t telling the truth, or at least not the whole truth, but with mother gone there was no way of checking. “I won’t wear ‘em.” he insisted.

Sick of the circular debate, Arthur simply let out a disappointed sigh and bundled the boy up into his lap. Bertie tried to wriggle away, but he was soon immobilized by Arthur’s strong grasp, the bigger boy keeping him pinned with one hand while he threaded the padded undies up his wriggling little legs with the other, pulling them up high beneath the skirt of his terry cloth poncho.

“There. No need to make a fuss, was there?”

Bertie groaned as he fidgeted around in Arthur’s lap. He could definitely feel the thick padding pressing between his legs, the extra material making him feel every bit a baby.

“Go and take a look.” He instructed, hooking him under his armpits to transport him a few meters across the room and stand him up in front of the mirror.

“I guess it’s not so bad.” Bertie admitted as he hitched up the terry cloth poncho and examined himself from different angles. Although the feeling of the briefs was wildly different to regular undies, you could barely make out the padding in the mirror at all unless you knew what you were looking for. The boy in the mirror was certainly very little, his moppet hair, pouty lips, and stuffed animal cuddled under his arm displaying all the hallmarks of a typical preschooler - but he was no baby. Despite the demotion, he wasn’t back in diapers yet.

Nevertheless, Bertie was in a decidedly bad mood. He adopted a sour pout as he hovered by the mirror, watching Arthur unhook a little dinosaur themed backpack (another relic from the garage) from the hook on the back of his door and start to pack away all the essentials for the night.

“Clothes for tomorrow…” he narrated, neatly folding a set of the new chunky briefs into the backpack along with a similarly babyish t-shirt and shorts set. “Spare undies just in case, spare t-shirts just in case, your nightlight of course…” he remarked, efficiently unplugging a tiny T-Rex shaped plastic box on the boy’s side table and depositing it within. He paused, turning an attentive smile on the little boy to request his input “Do you wanna bring any toys?”

“Um…my replicas.” Bertie requested in a quiet reedy voice, still feeling very self-conscious as he pointed a stubby finger towards the plastic toys arranged in a circle on the play mat.

“Of course! How could we forget the famous dino toys?”

The boy grumbled, feeling a vague urge to assert once again that they were replicas, not toys - but the feeling soon passed, Arthur taking Spike from his arms and packing the stuffie away with the other toys before leading him around the house on an energetic final sweep of all the babyish paraphernalia he would be needing for their sleepover. They grabbed  his bright green dino toothbrush and bubblegum flavored toothpaste in the bathroom and a fresh pack of binkies Arthur had apparently kept stashed in the top kitchen cabinet, before finally snatching up his little light up sneakers from the rack in the hall. Satisfied, Arthur unlatched the front door, gesturing for Bertie to step out with a pat on his terry-cloth clad bum.

“Off we go, champ!”

Bertie’s knees knocked together nervously, his toes curling against the carpet. “Shouldn’t I get dressed, first?” he asked, very aware that he was still only wearing a chunky pair of toddler’s briefs and a skimpy hooded towel that barely reached the middle of his thighs.

“It’s alright.” Arthur reassured. “It’s only the other side of the road.” The boy let out a fearful yip, but there wasn’t much he could do as the larger boy boosted him effortlessly across the threshold, locking up the house with his spare key while Bertie hovered nervously behind, his bare feet tapping on the cold concrete drive and a cool breeze tickling against his legs seeming to taunt his state of undress. He watched jealousy as the bigger boy slid the key into his pocket. His mother still hadn’t given him his own key, but it seemed she trusted Arthur completely. “Come on, little dude.” Arthur enthused, keeping the boy on a tight leash as they walked painfully slowly towards the sidewalk - the babysitter indulgently looking both ways twice down the abandoned suburban road before he finally permitted them to cross.

Bertie let out a sigh of relief as Arthur finally opened the door to his own house, leading him into the living room. The little boy collapsed immediately onto the comfortable-looking brown coach in front of the hearth, exhausted just as much from all of Arthur’s emotional trials as he was from soccer practice. The larger boy tittered, regarding the exhausted tyke with amusement. “You can’t conk out yet, bud.” he chided “We haven’t even eaten.”

“Sorry.” Bertie yawned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “I had soccer practice today.”

“Ohhh.” Arthur indulged “I bet you’re quite the little Messi.”

“Not really.” Bertie admitted. In truth, he was entirely hopeless - his little legs much too slow to keep pace with the game. Somehow however, the coach didn’t really seem to mind. He was trying his best, after all.

“Why don’t I get you a drink?” Arthur offered. “You could set up your dino toys while you wait, alright?”

Bertie nodded as Arthur left the room, but he didn’t really have the energy to retrieve his replicas, instead opting to sit blearily on the edge of the couch. After a while however, a framed family picture on the mantelpiece caught his eye. He rose ponderously to his feet, shuffling over and reaching up to take the heavy frame in his hands to take a better look. The image displayed a man and a woman sitting in front of a grand mountainous vista, a little boy of around four or five squinting dopily with the sun in his eyes, sitting in the woman’s lap. Bertie gave an amused hum as he realized that the boy was Arthur, feeling strangely delighted by the sight of the big boy looking so infantile.

A creak from the door almost made him jump out of his skin. Arthur was standing there holding a small baby bottle filled with milk, a knowing smile on his face. “Watcha’ doin’ bud?”

“Uhh…nothing.” Bertie asserted, sounding like a toddler caught red handed with his hand in the cookie jar. He quickly replaced the picture, bounding back over towards the couch. “Just looking.”

Arthur didn’t press the issue, shaking the baby bottle back and forth enticingly “I got you a nice warm bottle of milk.” he stated. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Bertie wrinkled his nose. “I don’t need a baby bottle.” he pouted sulkily, thoroughly humiliated by the demotion from sippy cups.

“Sorry, bud.” Arthur apologized, “But I can’t have you making a mess on my parent’s nice couch.”

“Then I don’t want it.” Bertie sneered, stomping his bare foot on the carpet like a fussy ungrateful toddler. He sat down swiftly on the couch again, crossing his arms and turning up his nose. He wasn’t left to pout for long however, Arthur quickly taking a seat beside him and bundling the boy effortlessly up into his lap. “Get off!” Bertie moaned, committed to his petulant protest, but Arthur was unrelenting - coaxing the rubber nipple around his lips as he writhed and wriggled to evade it. “Stop!”

Finally, Arthur relented, putting the bottle down on the coffee table and squeezing the boy tight around his tummy under his terry cloth poncho. “Bertie.” he said sternly, directing the boy gaze up to meet his own with a sharp prod against the soft underside of his chin. “You have to drink your milk. How else are you going to grow up big and strong?”

Bertie let out a long, ferocious growl, sounding like a boisterous baby dinosaur. “I don’t wanna.” he stated simply.

“Tell you what.” Arthur offered with a smile. “While you drink your milk, we can have a look at my old family photo albums.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t act dumb, silly.” the boy laughed “I saw you looking at that picture. And it’s only fair. I got to see all your old baby photos, didn’t I?”

Bertie went bright red, reminded at once of the way his mother had practically put on an exhibition for Arthur, relaying in detail all of his most embarrassing moments from toddlerhood. He considered the offer for a moment, thinking vindicately about how funny it would be to see the precocious thirteen year old in all the same shameful scenarios. “Hmmm…fine.” he grunted, earning himself a ruffle on his golden locks as Arthur immediately seized up the bottle - planting the teat between Bertie’s lips and depositing him on the couch as he began to sort through a collection of folders under the coffee table.

“Lets see…” he began “‘Artie’s 3rd birthday.’ How does that sound?”

The smaller boy gave an excited nod, sucking up a few big gulps of milk as Arthur came to join him again, placing him precariously on his knee and folding out the big binder atop the table. With Arthur holding his bottle in place, he was free to search through the album with both hands -  flipping past cheesy photos of a little boy grinning happily in front of a massive chocolate cake, jumping merrily on a bouncy castle, and laughing uncontrollably with his arms wrapped around two similarly tiny buddies. To Bertie’s disappointment however, Arthur bore few markers of immaturity - even at age three. There he was drinking from a proper glass, not a sippy cup; feeding himself his own slice of chocolate cake; even leaning over to display the plaid cotton waistband of boxer shorts, not diapers, or pull-ups, or even briefs. As Bertie came to the end of the album, he felt a fresh wave of embarrassment, realizing that at fourteen he was still somehow less grown up than Arthur had been at three.

“I was cute, huh?” Arthur asked, pulling Bertie backwards to cradle him in his arms like an infant.

“Uh-huh.” Bertie agreed, a few spurts of milk dribbling down his chin as he attempted to speak while still suckling hungrily on the bottle.

“Careful, buddy.” the larger boy warned, producing a napkin from out of his pocket to wipe away the spittle. “Still not as cute as you.” he adored, pinching dotingly at the boy’s hot ruddy cheeks.

Just at that moment, there was a loud rapping on the front door. Arthur pulled the teat of the bottle out from between Bertie’s lips with a pop, the boy scrambling out of his lap and sitting up to attention - slightly spooked by the harsh invasive noise. “Who’s that?” he demanded, looking up at the larger boy for reassurance.

“I’ll go see.”

Bertie could only wait anxiously as Arthur left him alone once more. After a while however, he couldn’t help but totter uneasily towards the living room door - hearing the vague low hum of adolescent voices through the wall as he turned the handle and peeped his head curiously into the hall. To his horror, he was confronted immediately with the familiar face of Charlie Tanner, a boy from school who also lived on their street. He went to retreat back into the living room, but Charlie had already seen him - cocking his head in confusion.

“Bertie?” he asked curiously. “What’re you doing here?”

“Uhhh…” he droned dumbly, his mouth hanging open in shock. Luckily, Arthur came to his rescue.

“We’re having a sleepover.” he explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I didn’t know you guys were friends.” Charlie said suspiciously. Arthur just shrugged however, opening the door a little further.

“You wanna come in?”

Bertie’s eyes widened like two saucers, rushing immediately back into the living room and grabbing up the baby bottle still abandoned on the coach. He stumbled around desperately, not knowing where best to hide it in the unfamiliar room, before the door swung open to reveal the two larger boys. The tyke gave a piggish squeal, struck dumb as he was left standing completely exposed in just his undies and skimpy towel, clutching a half-empty baby bottle in his mits. Charlie looked completely baffled, regarding the scantily dressed boy as if he were an alien life form. Arthur however, was entirely nonplussed - seemingly thinking nothing of Bertie’s babyish habits being exposed.

“I’m pretty sure I left it upstairs.” he remarked, clearly continuing whatever conversation he’d been having with Charlie on the porch “Make sure Bertie finishes his bottle, will you?”

“His bottle?”

“Yep. He’s been kinda fussy about it lately. Be right back.”

As the living room door fell shut again, Charlie drew closer to the paralyzed little boy like a cheetah stalking its prey. “No way…” he scoffed out loud, almost bubbling over with excitement “I’d heard the rumors, but I didn't think you were this much of a baby.”

“Leave me alone.” Bertie whined pathetically, clutching his bottle tight against his chest like a security blanket. He glanced over towards his backpack, suddenly feeling a deep burning need to cuddle with Spike - but he knew that would only make things worse.

“Chill out.” Charlie smirked, but his tone was far from chill. He snatched the bottle clean out of the boy's hands, discarding it on the floor before pushing the boy aggressively backwards onto his bottom, pulling his poncho towel high over his head to blind him.

“Huh. Potty training pants.” he observed cruelly, tickling intermittently against the boy’s soft tummy to make him squirm pathetically “I’d heard diapers, but guess these are close enough.

“Sto-oh-ohp!” Bertie moaned, feeling hot tears start to burn down his cheek as he tried to wiggle his way out of the immobilizing towel. By the time he’d finally managed to negotiate the terry cloth from off over his head, he was fully bawling, and Charlie had him completely pinned, his knee pressed down heavily atop his chest.

“So what’s the deal?” he inquired aggressively “Arthur babysitting you or something?”

Bertie shook his head to the contrary, but the bully was far from convinced. He only laughed - reaching across the couch to retrieve the bottle again. “Open wide, baby Bertie.” he commanded, stopping the boy’s head from thrashing away with a firm hand planted on his forehead.

With no other choice, Bertie choked down the remainder of the hot milk, the usually delicious sweet liquid tasting like vinegar in his mouth. The teat was finally removed as he emptied the bottle, and Bertie felt a sudden flare of anger, wanting to scream and shout and swear at the bullying boy, but instead all that came out of his mouth was a long, piercing wail - the infantile display only making Charlie laugh even harder.

“What’re you doing?” Arthur’s voice commanded from across the room. He was standing in the doorway, clutching a copy of Blood Wizard 3D.  Charlie got up at once, smirking arrogantly and crossing his arms as he looked across at his friend for approval.

“Just giving baby his bottle.” he explained between snorts of amusement “He was fussy, like you said.”

Arthur frowned, looking sympathetically at the blubbering boy laying on the ground in just his underpants. “Bertie?” he asked “You okay?”

“Nooooh….” he wailed, completely overwhelmed. “He hit me, and he called me a baby…and he was making fun of me!” he complained, kicking his legs impotently against the floor.

Charlie only chortled at the whining accusations, but Arthur looked far from amused, rushing over to the boy’s backpack and retrieving Spike from within. He thought briefly about grabbing a pacifier as well, but thought better of it, shooting a withering look at his friend. “Just go.” he commanded “You upset him.”

“Who cares?” Charlie scoffed. “He’s just some baby. They cry at anything. I thought we were gonna play Blood Wizard?”

Arthur clenched his fists, pacing back aggressively towards Charlie “I said go, asshole.”

The boy gave a final huff of derision before turning around and storming out, the front door slamming shut. The threat dealt with, Arthur enveloped the blubbering little boy at once in his arms, offering soothing hushes as he brushed the felt stuffed dinosaur against his bare skin.

“It’s alright, buddy.” he reassured. “He’s gone now.”

“H…he’s gonna tell everyone…” Bertie said sadly, but Arthur shook his head, pulling the boy into a hug and rubbing comfortingly against the small of his back.

“He wont.”

“How do you know?”

“‘Cause if he does, I’ll sock him in the mouth!” he offered, putting on a goofy smile.

Although his eyes were still overflowing with tears, Bertie couldn’t help but laugh at the silly comment, nodding along as Arthur lifted him up in his arms and sat down heavily on the couch. “Let’s watch Dinosaur Planet, alright?” he offered. “It’s just about to start.”

“Oh-kay.” Bertie agreed with a stifled yawn, but he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. As the familiar orchestral theme began to blare over the TV, he felt his thumb gravitating towards his half-open mouth, suckling contentedly on the digit as he drifted off into a deep defeated sleep.