Chapter Text
Wesker knew something was off with Chris the last two days. Normally when Chris regressed, it only lasted at most a day. However, Chris had been teetering between headspaces constantly. He would adamantly refuse to eat anything and would throw a fit when Wesker forced him to. It also made it very difficult when his doctor and nurse would come in, as at times he would go completely nonverbal, only making whines or grunts. Wesker had to save face a few times, lying and chalking it up to Chris simply having a low pain tolerance.
Wesker prepared to bring Chris home. The hospital had given them the okay, and Wesker decided that Chris would stay at his apartment for the time being. While he obviously couldn’t be there with Chris all the time, it would at least give him security knowing Chris was safe at his apartment. Chris would have everything he needed, big or small.
The nurse brought a wheelchair as Wesker finished packing up Chris’ things. She had offered to push Chris as Wesker carried his bag, but he politely declined, knowing Chris would have a fit if it weren’t Wesker pushing him. As she walked out, Wesker turned to Chris, who was sitting quietly on the hospital bed and staring off into space. It was obvious to him that Chris was regressed right now. He just couldn’t wait to get his poor boy out of this hospital.
“Christopher, Papa needs to put you in the wheelchair so he can bring you to the car, okay?” Wesker said, setting the duffle bag down next to the bed.
“Walk…” Chris said, his voice soft.
“Your legs aren’t close to healed yet.” Wesker pushed the wheelchair closer to the bed, positioning it so it would be easy to slide Chris onto the seat. “You don’t want to hurt them more than they already are, right?”
“Walk… Walk…!” Chris insisted, his voice growing louder. He pushed himself with his left hand, attempting to stand up. However, Wesker was quick to act, and gently grabbed him before he could try and stand on his own. Chris whined, flailing his left arm in an attempt to get Wesker to let him go. “No! I walk!”
Wesker sat him down in the wheelchair, holding him down as he squirmed. Wesker grabbed the seatbelt, pulling it over Chris’ lap and buckling it. “Christopher, that’s enough.”
Chris tugged at the seatbelt, crying as he tried to unbuckle it. “N-no! No push!”
Wesker pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep sigh. He knew that Chris wouldn’t make this easy at all. The younger man had been in a mood ever since he woke up. He had made a small scene when the nurse came in to give him his medications, and Wesker had to make up even more excuses for his behavior. Wesker knew that Chris was getting fidgety. He had always hated staying in one place for too long, especially if it were a hospital.
However, Wesker knew his little all too well. There was a simple solution to Chris’ behavior, and that was the fact that little Chris could never pass up a good bribe. Wesker sat down on the bed so that he was facing Chris, whose face was all red and wet with tears. “How about this, dear. If you let Papa push you down to the car, perhaps I will let you pick out a friend for Whiskers. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Chris’s whimpers immediately stopped. The younger man looked up at Wesker, his squirming also stopping. Whiskers was his best friend while he was small, and the thought of having another friend was very tempting. “...Friend?”
Wesker chuckled. When Chris had first started regressing around him some months ago, he had Chris bring a bag full of clothing and items he thought he’d need in case he had to regress. One of those items was a stuffed orange cat that the younger man apparently had for several years. Chris had affectionately named it Whiskers and would always carry it around with him when he was small. Wesker had always thought it was the most adorable thing, and he knew that Chris would do anything to have more toys. “Yes, dearheart. If you’re good and let me get you to the car, we can get Whiskers a friend. What does my Christopher think, hm?”
Chris relaxed, smiling. “Friend!”
It was just that easy, Wesker thought to himself. He grabbed the duffle bag and swung it over his shoulder before pushing the wheelchair out of the room and down the hall.
As Wesker pushed him down the halls of the hospital, Chris thought gleefully to himself. He loved Whiskers so much, and he knew Whiskers would be so happy to have another friend. When Papa would promise him something, Papa always kept to his promises. He just had to be a good boy. He wanted to be good for Papa.
When they finally got to Wesker’s car, Wesker opened the back door and haphazardly tossed the duffle bag onto the seats. He then opened the passenger door, positioning the wheelchair so that he could slide Chris right in.
“Alright, Papa needs to get you into the car. Could you be a good boy and help Papa?” Wesker asked.
Chris looked up at him, nodding. “I help.”
“Good boy, Christopher. Such a good listener.” Wesker praised as he gently lifted Chris out of the wheelchair. Chris put his free arm across his shoulders so that it was easier to lift him. Wesker slowly lowered Chris onto the passenger seat, being careful with his legs as he moved them. He then reached over Chris and grabbed the seatbelt, snuggly fastening him in. Once Wesker got into the car, he swiftly drove off, eager to get his little boy home.
—-----------------------------------------
The car ride to Wesker’s apartment was, much to Wesker’s delight, uneventful and mostly quiet. There were a few times where Chris would whine about his leg casts or his arm sling on his right arm, but Wesker came well prepared. He knew his little boy very well, after all. He had one of Chris’ pacifiers tucked away in the glovebox in a little plastic container to keep it clean. He popped it into Chris’ mouth, the younger man immediately soothed.
Wesker pulled into the parking space right in front of his apartment. Luckily it was on the first floor, so it would be a cakewalk getting Chris inside. He looked over to his baby boy, who was still suckling on the pacifier. Chris’ face lit up when he realized they were home, smiling softly behind his pacifier. Wesker always loved when Chris would smile, especially in his baby headspace.
“Someone is happy to be home, isn’t he?” Wesker said with a smirk as he got out of the car, opening the backseat to grab the duffle bag and wheelchair. He unfolded the wheelchair, making his way over to Chris’ side. He opened the door and was immediately met with Chris grabbing at him. “Be patient, Christopher. Once we get inside you can have some much needed time with Papa.”
Chris beamed with joy. He hated being cooped up in that hospital room. It was cold, scary, and unfamiliar. He never liked hospitals, or doctors in general as a matter of fact. You had almost no privacy, and he was someone that valued his privacy immensely. He constantly had to try and keep himself in his adult headspace which was draining. He wanted to be with Papa and just Papa.
“Hug, Papa!” Chris giggled as Wesker carefully sat him down in the wheelchair.
Wesker chuckled softly to himself, leaning down to give Chris a gentle embrace. He loved when Chris was little, relying on him for everything and being so attached. Whenever Chris would return to his adult headspace, Wesker oftentimes found himself feeling melancholic after the fact. Sometimes- more like most of the time- he wished that maybe, just maybe, Chris could stay in his little headspace.
He could only wish… For now, at least.
He wheeled Chris into his apartment, pushing him towards the spare bedroom. He turned the knob and pushed the door open, pushing Chris inside.
Before he found out that Chris was an age regressor, this room had zero use to him other than just collecting dust. He lived on his own, after all, and he rarely had company. When Chris had started regularly staying with him after Chris’ ‘secret’ was found out, he had an idea that would finally put the room to good use. Wesker, over several weeks, worked on making the spare room a place specifically for Chris whenever he was small. Much to Wesker’s surprise, there were, albeit very niche, websites dedicated to age regressing, ranging from forums to items you could buy.
He went all out for his baby boy, purchasing things such as toys, clothing, and furniture. The room, once bare, was now adorned with colorful wallpaper of teddy bears and building blocks. The floor was covered with a light blue plush carpeting, a rug with alphabet letters in the middle of the room. In the leftmost corner of the room sat a crib that, obviously, was big enough to fit an adult. Right by the crib sat a large dresser full of clothes for Chris whenever he was small. On the right sat a large, square bookshelf full of books and stuffed animals, then a sizable toy box next to it.
Wesker pushed Chris over to the crib, lowering the bars. “I need to get you into some more appropriate clothes, Christopher.” He said as he carefully lifted Chris from the wheelchair, sitting him down onto the soft mattress.
Wesker huffed to himself. While Chris was always very wiggly whenever he had to be changed, Wesker faced a new problem. He had to be as gentle as possible for the time being to not hurt Chris more than he already is. He sighed, knowing that Chris would not make this any easier as well.
Wesker carefully positioned Chris so that he was laying down. He then started to pull down his sweatpants as slowly as possible, setting them to the side. He reached down to open the drawer beneath the crib, pulling out a diaper.
Chris whined, scrunching his face in disapproval as his pacifier fell out of his mouth. “No! No want!”
Wesker shook his head. “Christopher, you need it. I’m not having you wet yourself.”
“No! No! NO!” Chris yelled, squirming as Wesker slid the diaper underneath his butt.
Wesker rolled his eyes. ‘Just what I expected. I do know him best.’ He thought to himself as he taped up the diaper snuggly around Chris’ waist. “This behavior is unacceptable, Christopher. You know it’s rude to yell.” He scolded.
Chris sniffled as he saw the look of disappointment in Wesker’s eyes, a single tear rolling down his face. He never liked when Papa was upset with him. He loved Papa too much to make him upset… “I s-sorry…”
“Thank you for apologizing, dearheart. Could you be a good boy while Papa gets you into your comfy clothes?”
Chris nodded, putting a finger in his mouth. “O-Okay.”
Wesker grabbed the pacifier from next to Chris, taking his finger out of his mouth and pushing the pacifier into his mouth. “No fingers, Chris.” Wesker said as he grabbed a light green footed onesie, his movements gentle as he put it onto Chris. He momentarily removed Chris’ arm sling from his right arm so he could finish putting it on him, then put it back on him before zipping the onesie up. “Isn’t that much better than those ugly big boy clothes?”
Chris giggled as Wesker tickled his chin. He felt so warm and cozy in his favorite onesie.
“Alright, Papa needs to do some work. How about we go into the living room and you can watch TV and play.” Wesker said as he helped Chris back into the wheelchair. He wheeled Chris into the living room, putting him in the middle of the room. He looked around, thinking to himself. How would Chris play with his toys if he’s wheelchair bound? Normally when he played, Chris would sit on the floor and crawl around wherever he pleased, but this time, that obviously wouldn’t be able to happen. Wesker huffed, but then an idea came to his head.
Chris watched as Wesker walked out of the living room. He whined. Papa had left him all alone in this annoying wheelchair… Where did Papa go? He didn’t do anything bad, did he? Chris’ bottom lip quivered. He was very prone to overthinking while he was small. He wanted nothing more than to make Papa happy.
Chris’ eyes lit up as Wesker walked back into the living room, dragging along a small wooden desk. He put it in the middle of the room, then pushed the wheelchair right up to it.
“Unfortunately, Christopher, you won’t be able to play on the floor like usual. However, you know I always have workarounds for my darling boy, hm?” Wesker ruffled his hair as he put one of Chris’ favorite toys on the desk. It was a plastic pond with magnetic fish in it. Attached to the side was a small fishing rod with a magnet as the bobber. He also sat his stuffed orange cat, Whiskers, onto the desk.
Chris giggled behind the pacifier as he eagerly grabbed the rod, completely immersed in the toy already as Wesker put Blues Clues on the TV,
“Be a good boy, Christopher. I’ll be right at my desk over there, okay?” Wesker ruffled Chris’ hair, walking into his office. He left the door open, where every now and then he could glance at Chris to make sure he’s okay.
—--------------------------------------------------
Wesker cracked his knuckles as he set the pen down, leaning back in his chair. He had so much paperwork, and he wasn’t even halfway done. He grumbled to himself, checking the time. Four thirty in the afternoon. He had been at it for about two and half hours now.
He froze.
Two and a half hours… Chris. He forgot to check on Chris. Shit.
Wesker quickly slipped out of his office, groaning as his back felt stiff. He went over to Chris, who was slumped over in the wheelchair.
“Christopher? Christopher, are you okay?” Wesker asked, putting a gentle hand on Chris’ shoulder.
Chris whined, pacifier falling to the floor. He slowly lifted his head, gazing up at Wesker. His face was clammy, his cheeks rosy. His eyes were watery, and his gaze looked dazed.
Wesker put a hand to Chris’ forehead. “Hm… You feel warm, dear. How do you feel?”
“Icky…” Chris said, his words hoarse.
Wesker shook his head. His poor boy. He looked so pitiful.
“Give me just a moment, Chris.” Wesker walked to the bathroom, retrieving a thermometer. He walked back into the living room. “Could you be a dear and let me take your temperature?”
Chris opened his mouth, allowing Wesker to put the thermometer under his tongue.
“Thank you, dearheart.”
After a minute, Wesker took the termometer from Chris’ mouth. He frowned. One hundred one. Chris had a fever.
“Poor boy. No wonder you feel so awful.” Wesker cooed, running his fingers through Chris’ hair.
Chris leaned into Wesker’s hand, a soft cry escaping his lips. “Icky…”
“Oh, I know, I know. Don’t worry, Papa will take good care of his boy. Let’s get you comfortable in your bed so I can care for you.”
Wesker turned the TV off and grabbed Whiskers, pushing Chris to the nursery. Chris softly cried to himself. Wesker knew he was in for a long night. Whenever Chris got sick, it was always a big deal. While it was rare for him to get sick, his body always had a hard time fighting it off. If he got sick while in his adult headspace, he was usually exceptionally stubborn and shut himself off from others. In his little headspace, however, he was needy. Extra needy. He was prone to crying a lot, refusing food, medicine, sleep, and not wanting to leave Wesker’s side.
Wesker put the wheelchair next to the crib, carefully hoisting Chris out of the chair and laying him onto the soft mattress, propping him up with pillows and setting Whiskers next to him.
“N-No, no, no…! I-I no sleepy…!” Chris sobbed, reaching a hand out to grab Wesker’s shirt.
“Shh… Now, now, Christopher. I’m not putting you to sleep just yet. You need medicine and something to eat first.” Wesker grabbed his hand, holding it lovingly.
Chris sniffled. “N-no medicine… Yucky… No like…!”
Wesker ignored Chris’ protests. He stood up, pulling the bars to the crib up as he left the nursery momentarily.
Chris bursted out into full blown wails. “PAPA! PAPA!”
Wesker first walked into the bathroom, grabbing a bottle of Tylenol. He then went to the kitchen, grabbing one of Chris’ many bottles from the cupboard. A warm bottle of milk always did the trick with calming him down.
While Wesker prepared Chris a bottle, his wails could be faintly heard. Wesker let out a sharp exhale. He was glad he invested in soundproofing for the nursery. Otherwise, his neighbors would have hated his guts. Chris was a cryer while regressed and especially when he was sick and regressed.
When the milk finished warming in the pot on the stove, Wesker carefully poured it into the bottle. He then took the Tylenol, putting the recommended amount into the milk. He shook it thoroughly, then made his way back to the nursery.
Chris’ wails didn’t let up even when Wesker walked back into the nursery. Drool dribbled down his chin, along with some snot.
Wesker pulled the bars down, sitting back down on the mattress. He reached over to the side table by the crib, grabbing several tissues. He got to work cleaning Chris’ face, holding his chin as he tried to shake his head.
“No need for all these tears, Christopher. Papa’s here. It’s okay.” Wesker cooed as he carefully positioned himself and Chris so that he was cradling him. Wesker brought the bottle to Chris’ mouth.
Chris turned his head away. “No!”
“Christopher, Papa needs you to drink your bottle.”
“Noooo!”
Wesker rolled his eyes. He expected this. However, this was his Christopher, his darling boy, after all. He always knew how to break through his stubbornness.
“Remember what Papa said earlier today? When he was bringing you home from the hospital?”
Chris looked back at him, tilting his head in curiosity.
“Remember? I said if you were a good boy, I would allow you to get a friend for Whiskers. You still want to do that when you’re feeling better, yes?”
Chris nodded, holding Whiskers close to his chest. “...Y-yes…”
“So, if you want Papa to keep to his word, you also need to keep to your word. Could you be a good boy for me?”
“I….I good. Good boy…”
Wesker smirked, holding the bottle up to Chris’ lips once again. This time, Chris opened his mouth, taking the nipple of the bottle and began to drink.
Wesker slightly rocked Chris back and forth. “Good boy, very good boy.”
As Chris drank the bottle, he started to feel drowsy. His eyes fluttered as he struggled to stay awake. Wesker smiled. The medicine was working.
Wesker hummed a soft lullaby as Chris drank, suckling slower and slower as his eyes finally closed. Wesker looked down, pulling the bottle from his mouth and setting it onto the side table.
“Christopher?” Wesker asked quietly, making sure Chris was actually asleep.
Chris didn’t respond. Instead, light snores escaped from his mouth.
Wesker slowly moved Chris, laying him down onto the pile of pillows. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it up under Chris’ chin, tucking him in snuggly. He planted a kiss on Chris’ forehead before standing up, raising the crib bars and locking them in place. He reached out to the mobile that hung above the crib, turning it on and grabbing the empty bottle from the side table. The soft tune of “Rock-a-bye Baby” filled the room as Wesker turned on the nightlight, flicking the lights off as he stood by the door.
“Goodnight, my sweet Christopher.” Wesker whispered as he left the nursery, leaving the door slightly ajar just in case Chris would awake during the night.
Wesker walked into the kitchen, rinsing out the bottle and putting it on the drying rack. He then went over to the couch, sitting down as he turned the TV on to the news.
He hoped Chris would wake up in his little headspace. Ever since he had become Chris’ caregiver whenever he regressed, he found himself enjoying little Chris more than adult Chris. He liked Chris being dependant and needy for him. He liked being in charge, making sure Chris was well taken care of.
Most importantly, it was much easier to keep Chris out of his business.
Wesker leaned into the couch more, crossing one leg over the other. He knew that he would be betraying S.T.A.R.S. in the coming months. He had no issue with that whatsoever. He could care less if they made it out of his future plans alive or not. However, little did Chris know, he would be part of said plan. After all, Wesker would never want to give up his darling boy. Oh, no. He could never do that.
Wesker flicked through the channels, lost in thought.
Soon enough, he and Chris- little Chris, to be more exact- would never be apart.
He would just have to play it out with time and patience.