Chapter Text
Thousands and thousands of books lined the shelves with their colorful spines, worn and gently creased so as to not damage them. The royal palace's library never ceased to amaze him. With ceilings so tall, whoever designed the place had chosen to have the shelved reach after them. Everyone knew that on the days Cale had to himself, he could be found amongst the books or wrapped up in a nest of blankets sleeping the day away.
At first, both Eruhaben and Ron had eyed him warily, clearly skeptical that he would be able to keep out of trouble. Rude. He directed a deadpan stare at them, only to have it returned with a version of their own or a chastising look. They'd brought up how last time he'd come to a place packed with vast knowledge like this, he basically had to be carried out. That was a one time thing. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Cale knew the risks of overworking record, which is why he used it in that manner sparingly.
It was a bit embarrassing to be carried out with everyone blubbering around him, so if he could help it, it won't happen again.
-
-
-
Alright. He must have jinxed himself.
He's being carried out of a library again. Only this time, with hands underneath his armpits and his feet miles away from the ground. Cale's not sure what's more embarrassing: the fact that he's currently swaddled in the shirt he'd worn here; the fact that he's now sat on the old butler's hip; or the fact that his frustration is making an appearance in the form of big, fat tears rolling down his now chubby cheeks. Ron, who held him with the expertise of a father, looked down at him with a soft, but knowing expression that showed he had expected something to happen.
"Why is our young master crying?" Ron asks softly, his worn hand gently patting at Cale's back.
"I'm not crying," Cale grumbles. His hands are clumsy and uncoordinated as he swiped at his damp face.
The butler lets out a hum that just tells him that none of his words had made it across. "I see, I see. What else do you have to say?" Ron coos, encouraging his babbling some more. Cale sputters as he tries to avoid the gloved fingers that come to wipe at his eyes and fails in doing so.
He swats at the man's shoulder, but in doing so, he notices how tiny his own hand is. Curling his fingers, he watches as each stubby digit scrunches shut into a fist. They do so slowly and for whatever reason, it takes way more concentration than it should.
And then he punches Ron's shoulder.
-
He'd been browsing along the selection of books when a spine with gold lettering caught his eye. Curling letters that were so daintily embossed, yet so hard to read, made Cale curious about its contents. He slipped the book out and flipped it around in his hands in order to look at the cover. Running his fingers across it, Cale traced the silhouette of a shattered hourglass. It was a simple design, but it it was beautiful and elegant. The gold of the details matched so well with the deep emerald, and buried in the sea of green were more intricate details in one shade darker. If he had to guess, the contents of the book were probably written about reversing time or maybe even time travel. It was a topic that never failed to catch his interest, but just as he ran a finger over the broken edge of the glass in the silhouette, he felt something nick his fingertip.
A hiss slipped through his teeth and he pulled away to inspect both the cover and his finger. Even under close inspection, there was nothing about the cover that would have been able to cut him, but it still managed to do so anyways. Weird. A dot of blood sat on the tip of his finger, nothing too much, but it still stung. Injuries like this were the worst because of the way they stung harshly even though they're usually not deep enough to draw blood half the time. It's like the mere memory is enough to renew the painful cuts. Cale lets out a sigh before popping his finger in his mouth to clean the wound. It was nothing a little saliva couldn't fix.
But this. This was where things went awry. There must have been something imbued in the cover because the moment his blood touched his tongue, it felt like everything had been turned onto its head. Heat rushed to the surface of his skin, bringing a horrible pressure to his temples with it. Cale's knees buckled as black encroached his vision, creeping in from the edges until he couldn't see a single thing in front of him. While it felt as though his blood might boil him alive, Cale had never felt so cold. If his head doesn't explode first, the fluctuating fever might be what does him in.
Squeezing his eyes shut, all Cale can do is try to will the pounding headache away. The novel, or whatever that cursed thing is, lays forgotten on the floor beside him. Its pages flutter open as a light radiates off of it like creeping tendrils. They inch towards Cale's prone form, wrapping around him like vines of ivy until he's fully enveloped and at their mercy.
It's a terrible, disorientating experience that makes him regret even leaving the villa. The migraine ebbs away too slow for his liking, eventually disappearing as though it never occurred, and the contrasting temperatures even out. He's a bit scared to learn what the fuck that was, but when he cracks an eye open, the world is bigger. The vast library that had extended far above his head as an adult seemed more like an endless sky above him now.
He'd been discovered almost immediately due to the loose curfew Ron had set. The butler told him that if he didn't return to the front by a certain time, he and the ancient dragon would make sure that Cale wouldn't be able to go anywhere without a chaperone. He was already mourning the time he had without them hovering over him because the moment he reverted back, they were definitely staying true to their word. The rug felt rough against his knees, digging into his soft skin with each shuffle, but what trips him up is the silk shirt. It wraps around him like a serpent, hindering his movement to the point that he ends up face planting into the dirty rug. His nose aches, throbbing and pulsing with pain that normally could have been ignored, but now it has tears welling up in his eyes. The sniffle he makes sounds alien to him - far too young and out of character for him in a way that adds to the unwanted sense of panic. Stupid baby emotions are too easy to overwhelm. It's his sniffling that sets the butler into action as well, scooping him off from the floor just before he was able to reach the discarded novel, and carefully checking for injuries.
"Oh... you clumsy boy," Ron mutters mindlessly, turning him around in his arms so that Cale faced him, "We must inform his highness and then we can return to the estate... surely Miss Rosalyn and Sir Eruhaben will be able to figure out the solution for this...."
Picking up Cale's clothing, Ron moved over to a table to set everything down and secure the shirt around the baby. At first, it was like a massive dress on the boy, but once he was done, it was more like an inconveniently large diaper. The librarian can handle putting away the novels that the young master had taken out, he had more important things to do than waste time doing so on his own. The clicking of his shoes was muffled by the rug as Ron strided towards the door.
"Ron," Cale says seriously, "We need to go back."
Reaching up, Cale patted at the old man's cleanly shaved face. Although he found Ron terrifying, there were more important matters at hand! If they turned back now, then maybe they wouldn't even have to report the incident. Cale is sure that the stupid book has the secret to reversing whatever this was, but he just needed Ron to turn around. Who knew if it'll even be in the same spot he'd taken it out of in the first place.
"Ron! Let's go back!" He tries again, his fingers pressing into the side of the man's face. This time, Ron hushes him, gently taking Cale's hand to tuck into his own before lightly bouncing a few times.
"I know you're getting antsy, but we're almost there, so hang on for a little longer," Ron patiently replies.
There was no escaping this, but at least the hold was comfortable. Cale lets out a disgruntled huff, giving in to his fate of being stuck like this. Squirming a little, he tries to free his hand from the much larger one and once he succeeds, he rests his head on Ron's shoulder. It's surprisingly nice - the secure hold, the steady gait, and the broad shoulder that his face is squished on. He finds himself having to blink back a fast approaching sleepiness, but with each blink, it feels like his eyes grow heavier and heavier. Raising his head again, Cale tries to will the drowsiness away, but it ends with failure when the gloved hand guides him back to resting on the shoulder.
"Stop it, I have to be awake..." - He did not whine, thank you very much. He was just speaking normally.
"Shh, shh... it's okay," Ron's pesky hand started patting at his back again, inviting the sleep right in, "You're tired aren't you? Why don't you sleep, young master."
"m... not tired..." He says, rubbing his face into the smooth fabric. Since Ron is so dead set in getting in his way, he can deal with wrinkles in his suit! Tiny fingers grasp at the collar of the butler's shirt and scrunch it again and again. A small laugh bubbles up as Cale admires his handiwork: Ron's pristine uniform was now ever so slightly wrinkled!
(Ron had to admit, he missed when both his son and the young master were babies. He missed how small they were in his arms and how they'd seek him out for comfort. As worrying as it was that the young master was suddenly a baby again for unknown reasons, a part of him was happy to see it.
The young master had always been a bit of a fussy baby and a chatterbox, so this wasn't anything too new for him.
Perhaps the little young master will finally keep himself out of trouble while they search for a way to change him back).
"Hmm? What's gotten our young master so giggly?" Ron asks, his stupidly soothing voice doing nothing to help Cale fend off the sleep.
Cale whacks at the back of Ron's shoulder again for good measure, but much to his annoyance, it draws a pleased laugh from the man.
"Our young master is so strong, isn't he?" Ron teased, his steps never faltering.
-
Cale's not sure when he dozed off, but he's brought back to awareness by the same gloved hand gently poking at his neck and sides. Grumbling, he tries to burrow his face back into the crook of Ron's neck, too tired to process how embarrassing his actions were. But to his dismay, he's pulled away. Cale's fingers dig into the fabric like the claws of a kitten as he tries to stop it, and he wins! Ron places him back onto his shoulder and Cale relaxes again... only to be pulled off cleanly. Bastard.
"Fuck youuu," Cale forces as much vitriol into his voice as he can. His fists coming up to rub at his eyes as he's held in a way that has him dangling midair. If Ron wanted, he could just drop Cale to his demise, and that very thought has his legs curling in ever so slightly. Cale needed to watch himself because turning into a baby must have dulled his common sense.
(Ron smiles fondly at the way the baby's bottom lip juts out into a pout. The young master was still just as fussy when he's woken up too early, but the little unhappy whines are just too cute.
Cale's little brows draw together, and once he's done rubbing his eyes, Ron is gifted with the grumpiest stare ever).
"Did you have a good nap?" Ron holds him out in front of him. It's too far for his short, stubby arms to even consider swiping at the man.
"No, no the fuck I did not!" Cale kicked his feet angrily, but they didn't meet any target. If anything, they just drew his attention to the fact that his shirt is tied around his waist. Fuck! Hot tears burn at the corners of his eyes with this surge of emotion, and even though he clamps his mouth shut to stop himself, it still slips out as a whimper. His bottom lip quivers as more tears well up at his lashes, which only serves to make him more embarrassed. It's a horrible cycle of embarrassment, tears, and anger that he can't seem to escape.
To add onto his ever growing mortification, he hears the crown prince pipe in, "Maybe... maybe we should deal with this without him here? He doesn't seem too happy..."
Cale can't see the man, but he sounds just as uncomfortable as he is right now.
"No, it's quite alright," Ron places him back onto his shoulder again and begins to smooth a hand up and down his back. It's a soft touch that's just on the brink of being ticklish, but it's just so damn comforting. It feels like the man had casted some sort of magic to make him stop crying, and honestly, Cale is so glad it worked. He didn't want to start bawling his eyes out for stupid things.
"Thanks, I guess," Cale sighs.
"Feeling better?" Ron pulls away again, and this time, Cale is ready.
Seeing how Cale's response was only a pout, Ron settles the boy on his hip again and begins to relay what little details he has to the crown prince. Every now and then, Cale would interject with wide waves of his arms and babbles as though he were trying to explain his side of the story.
"What happened, is that one of your stupid books turned me into a baby!!" Cale complains. This is his fourth attempt at trying to get his story across.
("Aaa! Aaawwhh!! Awwuhb booo!" Cale's eyes look so serious, but there's a lot of drool dribbling out from the corner of his mouth).
Alver has to hide his smile behind folded hands because the red haired baby would surely get offended if he laughed, "Is that so?"
He cracks though. A small huff reveals his amusement and Cale nearly whacks the butler with a wild swipe of the arm. He pauses though, and then Alver is met with eyes that are too clear for a normal baby. It's a bit unsettling, but it just goes to show that their commander was just stuck in that little baby.
"Take me over there, Ron," Cale tugs at the man's collar with one hand and points at the prince with the other.
"I think he wants you to hold him, your highness," Ron closes the distance between them and the prince until only the desk separates them and to seal the deal, Cale holds his arms out to reach for the blond man.
"Yes. Hold me so I can write you a damn message."
Something flashes across the crown prince's face - a mix of awe and tenderness that makes the grin that spreads across his features look so incredibly dumb.
"You want your hyung to hold you?" Alver's voice is filled with a giddy pride, so full of it that it wobbles. His voice is weirdly thick, too.
"No, you dunce, I need to get to your desk!" Cale huffs out, kicking his feet in annoyance when the prince takes too long. "Hurry up, so I can tell you what happened!!"
Finally, he's passed over to the blond, but the hold isn't as comfortable as Ron's. Alver holds him like he's scared of dropping him, his fingers barely squeezing him in fear of breaking him. Cale can sense the fear in the man and it's so entertaining that he laughs again. He's definitely going to use this later. For now though, he leans as far as he can with the two hands wrapped around his body. Just a little beyond his reach lies a feathered quill. It sits abandoned with a dollop of ink still wet on the tip. If he can get that, then he can write out what happened!
But no! He's being pulled back to sit in Alver's lap and Ron is moving everything further out of his reach. These assholes. They're making everything harder than it has to be! Small hands grasp at the edge of the desk, smacking at it a few times before Ron seems to get the hint.
"I believe the young master wishes to stand up," Ron says.
Alver hesitates. "He can stand?"
"Yes! Yes I can probably! Hurry up and help me up," Cale looks up at him with determination in his eyes.
"Yes, your highness, he seems to be around the age where babies begin to stand with assistance."
His feet, soft and round with baby fat, make contact with the silky fabric of Alver's slacks when he's stood up on the man's thighs. The prince's hands hover anxiously as Cale uses all of his strength to pull himself up, even jumping a bit whenever his knees wobble.
Cale's weight barely feels like anything on Alver's thighs, making the baby's size even more noticeable. The commander, who already had a rather frail constitution and frame, was changed into a chubby baby. His arms looked like they were made up of freshly baked bread rolls. His cheeks were round and ruddy, taking on a cute, red tint. The shirt wrapped around his bottom made him look even smaller because of how much fabric was bunched and knotted there. Were babies supposed to be this small? Alver didn't know.
The long red locks were replaced with a disarray of various length tufts that took turns standing up. Alver’s hands itched to try smoothing them down, but he was too scared to let go. What if Cale stumbled and ricocheted under his desk?? He’d feel horrible if the baby fell under his watch.
Alver had never been this close to a baby before, but there’s something he learned about himself - he was scared of them breaking.
And it seems like the little bugger was trying to get himself hurt.
Panic surged through him when Cale pulled himself closer to the desk, putting his weight onto the tips of his toes. They were tiny. How were they sustaining his weight?? Oh god, it looked like he was going to roll his ankle and tumble off. Alver sat stiffly as the baby began his attempts in climbing on top of the wooden surface. His legs were too short to reach, so it looked more like Cale was marching in place. What was he doing?
With trembling hands, Alver remained vigilant in case those little feet slipped, but at the same time, he stole glances at the seasoned caretaker. Ron, who he desperately blinked an S.O.S signal at, only stood by with a benign smile on his face. This time, his expression clearly harbored affection in it, with his enamor showing in the crows feet forming at the corners of his eyes.
(No! This wasn’t the time to stand there watching, Ron!)
Cale's plan ends with failure this time as well when the butler comes to Alver's aid, plucking the baby from his attempts.
"We will be returning to the estate," Ron says matter of factly, ignoring the now screeching and flailing baby in his arms.
"Yes..." Alver weakly replies.