It was late. Well, it was late for a four year old, but he was sure it was late for grown-ups, too.

The young boy glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It had bright blinking red letters at the base as Superman towered over it. Alfred totally loved it! He blinked the "Mr. Sandman" crud out of his eye, trying to focus on the letters and make it link with the time; sure, he was good with numbers and all, but minutes and hours bothered him some. "Three-four-three," Alfred said, aloud, then looked around to see if his mommy would come barging in asking why he wasn't asleep. He jumped, once again looking around to see if an adult would enter.

This was so cool! He was finally a big boy! In Alfred's mind, a "big boy" was someone up past midnight. His parents would never let him and, unfortunately, he always fell asleep before ten. Though it seemed God was letting him enter big-boy hood, as Alfred seemed just; he was entering school in September, after all. Which was, he did the simple counting on his hands, in four months. Soon, he thought, he would be a grown-up and a super-awesome superhero like Superman!

"Fucking."

There it was again! Alfred bolted up, hearing the thing that had awoken him. It was muffled and mute, almost sounding like "puck-ing", though the four year-old knew better; his daddy said it lots when he thought Alfred wasn't listening. Slowly, the child exited his bed; cautious that his mommy would hear (his daddy was a rock when it came to sleep). He took a step, almost yelping when he stepped on one of the numerous scattered Legos in the messy room; although his mommy told him he should keep it neat, he didn't like it. After a minute of making it through the Lego minefield, he eased open the door of his room, wincing as it creaked.

"Fucking bitch," the mysterious voice said, coming from down the hall, further this time. Alfred had heard that word from his daddy, too, though it was mostly pointed at his mother. Briefly he wondered what they meant— because his mommy told him to never say those words— but he padded down the hallway, finally getting to where he had heard the voice, only to meet nothing. "Fucking cock-sucker."

There! The family room! Alfred ran excitedly, no longer caring if his mom heard, pausing to think at the new word, which he had also learned from his dad; he yelled it at the TV sometimes while watching the Patriots play football, though he yelled the words at the dudes in stripes, rather than the players. The child stopped dead when he reached the main room.

There, sitting on the couch, downing can after can of his daddy's favorite drink, which reminded Alfred a lot of soda, though he couldn't ever have any, was a Real. Live. Alien. That annoying older boy down the street would be so jealous! Alfred had always dreamed of this day! It was a gray-white one that reminded him of the aliens from New Mexico that were green and the one on the couch had the coolest, biggest red eyes the four year-old had ever seen. "Wow," Alfred breathed, almost peeing his Superman tighty-whiteys and Spiderman pajama pants in his excitement. Though, he didn't because he was officially a big-boy now.

The alien looked over to Alfred, looking surprised that he was caught red-handed drinking beer. This was not part of the alien's mission; he was supposed to observe unseen and unheard, not get involved whatsoever. Now, the little human man was staring at him, looking on with an awe the alien usually saw when the little human was watching those moving pictures on TV of alien-like humans.

"Fuck."

Alfred beamed brightly, running over to the shocked alien with no feelings of fear. "Ohmygosh! A real, live alien," he said, loudly, only to jump and remember he should be quiet; he felt the need to keep this a secret from his sleeping parents. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Alien, I'm Alfred! And I'm—" he quickly counted on his fingers, and then held up his hand, proudly showing five fingers extended—"four! Oh! I saw on TV that you greet aliens like this!" The child held up his other hand, trying to mimic the "Vulcan sign", but failed miserably, not getting his fingers to separate and hold there. "Daddy watches that show a lot and says that I shouldn't become a… a… nerd! Am I a nerd, Mr. Alien?" Alfred stared at the alien, kicked puppy face intact.

The red-eyed alien stared down at the odd little man. He had observed him and felt that the little man was odd and energetic on a regular basis, but now meeting him took it to a whole other level. "Fucking" was all he could manage. Something dinged from somewhere on the alien's person and the little male human—Alfred—looked at him curiously. The alien scrambled towards its would-be hip and pulled out what looked like a piece of broken glass, setting it down a few feet in front of him.

To Alfred, it seemed as though another alien crawled out of the glass. How cool! This alien was taller and gangly-er than the alien that was chilling out on the couch and all Alfred could do was stare in awe. The tall alien paid no mind to Alfred, almost as if the child wasn't there. Its voice was deep and harsh, rasping out a language that the blonde didn't understand, but understood all the same. The language gurgled and rose in pitch, only to drop suddenly. It sounded nothing like English but Alfred heard it as so.

A name that did not transfer to English and then—"I cannot believe you let the little man child see you! Just what were you thinking, you lazy son-of-a-bitch! And just where is the subject now?" The tall alien looked around, finally noticing Alfred next to the lazing alien, tensing. "Shit! Count yourself lucky that lesser being cannot understand our language, scumbag." The alien glared at the one lazily drinking his beer.

Alfred tilted his head at the tall, mean alien. He could understand them just fine… Was he not supposed to? The child walked straight up to the mean alien, tapping his arm. "Excuse me, Mr. Alien, sir," he started, using the "manners" his mommy taught him. "My mommy says that you shouldn't use that sort of lan… langu… you shouldn't say bad words coz it makes you a meanie. A-and I'm not a 'child' or what you said! I'm a hero! Alfred F. Jones!" The child gave a brilliant smile, thinking that "bad words" were the sort of "language" the alien was referring to.

The shrewd alien turned slowly to face Alfred, a look of confusion and disbelief on its inhuman face. "Man child, you can understand our highly evolved language in that underdeveloped mind of yours," it asked, still in the odd guttural language that later Alfred would claim was Klingon. The four-year-old scrunched his face when the alien didn't call him by name. The being was clearly waiting for a response, though Alfred felt like sulking as he pouted and folded his arms. He watched happily as an irritation— similar to his mother's whenever he was asked about the cookies in the cookie jar and their whereabouts— grow on its face.

Smiling sweetly, Alfred asked, "Hey, misters, what are your guys' names?" He rocked back on his heels then onto the balls of his feet, back and forth, back and forth, as he observed the pair of extraterrestrials show an utter look of disdain. Smiling wider, he prompted, "I ain't gonna answer your que… quest… question until you answer mine!"

The one that was originally chilling on his couch looked like he was about to strangle the boy, and the newcomer wasn't far behind. Before they did anything, the tall one stopped and sighed. "Very well, human. I am—" A series of sounds that did not transfer to English—"and this is—" Another series of throaty noises, though they were familiar. "Satisfied, hu—Alfred F. Jones?" The alien gave him a look that reminded the child greatly of his mother.

Alfred was silent for a moment, a look of deep concentration on his face. Finally, he spoke up. "Can I call you Barbara?" He pointed to the alien, who was clearly male, and then pointed to his housemate. "And can I call you Tony?" The child smiled and nodded soundly before continuing, "Oh! And it sounds like you guys're speaking Eng... Engli…" Alfred always had a hard time remembering the word for his language, so he settled with—per usual—, "American to me!"

Barbara looked like he was about to use his ultra-awesome alien powers to dominate and enslave the human race, specifically Alfred. He was stopped short when the child relayed his apparent ability to translate intuitively.

"Fucking son of a bitch!"

Tony took the words right out of Barbara's mouth. This—this insignificant, underdeveloped human cracked their language and managed to smack it in their faces by bestowing upon them ugly human names. Alfred cocked his head, not quite understanding their fury.

Barbara thought, scenario's and future possibilities running through his head. Quickly, he decided. "Listen here, you asshat lieutenant," Barbara snapped, talking to Tony, "This little fuck of trash has the ability to hear and speak our language. It can also teach you the ways of this dump so you teach it. We clear, ass-shit?"

"Bitch," Tony replied. Barbara disappeared from the sliver of glass it came.

Alfred exploded. "Omigosh! This is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooo— " he took a breath—"oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo cool!" Because, like, what was cooler to a four year-old than having an alien teach you all the secrets of the universe? And it also made Alfred feel very grown-up and hero-ish because he was going to teach someone possibly older than him! "We're gonna be best friends, Tony! We can play Legos and pirates and cops and superheroes and go on adventures and—"

"Fucking hell," Tony muttered, cutting in and putting his head in his arms in a very human manner. Today was just not his day; this human family was impossible and now the kid dropped in on his observation and now Tony was stuck with him.

"… and we can tell each other a whole bunch of stuff!" Alfred finished, beaming happily at the depressed alien. The toddler would have loved to stay with the alien more when a yawn erupted from his mouth and he found he could no longer keep his eyes open. "Well, 'night, Tony… We can talk more tomorrow! Say hi to Barbara for me!"

The toddler trudged back to his room and once again crossed the Lego minefield in a totally awesome and heroic manner, only for his to go out like a light when his head met the pillow. By the next day, meeting Barbara and Tony seemed only a dream to the little boy, that is, until he met Tony again that night.

A/N: Written by jojo. :) Gosh, sorry for any sorta mistakes. :/ How do you like it? I have a whole (well, I call it that, but it's fragmented and needs to be written) USUK story that goes with this, so if I ever post it it'll be under something else entirely. XD

Thanks for the reviews/favorites/not-follows-because-it's-a-one-s hot; I love you, too!