Chapter Text
Chapter 57 – Field Notes on a Family (Part VIII)
Alfred
Peace returns in immeasurable increments, none of them quite large enough to feel each of the steps in moment that their changes hit the air.
It slides softly, not swiftly, into place. Hardly noticeable.
The depth of the feeling reveals itself most strongly in fleeting moments when the gossamer is stripped back briefly in the echoes of some old strife resurfacing.
While the Family does settle, and while young masters Timothy and Jason do find safe harbor in each other as, with every single day, they grow closer and more confidently content, the darkness that hounds them does not entirely dissipate.
The remainder of July is rather tense, but only due to how it’s awkward. Everyone who steps foot in the Manor during the month’s last few days does so while treading carefully.
Alfred and Miss Barbara coordinate a sort of informal running calendar that keeps everyone aware of who will be in the Manor, and who will be elsewhere, at all times. It allows them to dutifully and accurately answer the others’ questions regarding who is home, thus curtailing the worst effects of being caught in too close proximity with too many variables.
None of them outright avoid any given other of their Family, even master Jason hardly hesitates to visit even when he knows that master Bruce will be at home when he pays call. But both Timothy and Jason hesitate when both Bruce and Richard are present simultaneously, or when Steph and Cass together are there with either of the aforementioned.
It’s a complicated dance, but a manageable one.
And things do soon ease significantly.
By mid-August, the Family can gather for a monthly Sunday Brunch without incident or the requisite of carefully scheduled comings and goings. The arrive naturally, and feel comfortable with mingling beforehand and lingering up to several hours after.
The only hiccup in the month as a whole is master Jason’s birthday.
August 16th.
Timothy remained steadfast about only taking off a few hours of the afternoon from his Wayne Enterprises responsibilities. Richard took acute issue with that, as did Stephanie. And Jason grew quite distressed over their vocal investment in the matter— more so as he fought himself against feeling the same (despite also feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of having had Tim do that for him, not to mention the worry of having had to face more time with more people in a more accurate semblance of a proper party).
The shortness of their tones, the sharp edges in their conversations, gave them each a glimpse of just how far things had come along improving. And while the weekend itself was certainly a testy affair, while there was no formal celebration, there was a lovely dinner with the Family and a game of rooftop tag after the children paused for cake that night on Patrol.
The little spat of tension resolved itself quickly, and it made the last few weeks of the summer season all the sweeter for having shown them such explicit progress.
And made their forceful falling out in September all the more difficult to bear.
It was the first real fight between Timothy and Jason as a couple.
Alfred didn’t learn of it until well after the worst.
He didn’t need to know the details to understand the crux, however.
It was an issue of class and privilege, and the way in which Timothy wielded what vast resources and degree of clout he had.
The little half-way house for runaways and orphans they had started accidently had yet to formalize in anyway, had yet to be even footnoted as any part of the Gotham Social Services system, but it had grown into a fairly solid venture.
The children placed there were no longer considered temporary wards, and their number had grown. Three had been returned to Tim by a ‘friend’ he refused to introduce and referred to only as ‘Pru’. Two more had come from within the Bowery itself, simply teenage runaways who’d stumbled unknowingly upon safe haven in their flight.
With such a concentration of young minds in sore neglect, particularly once their physical safety was assured, it was hardly a wonder that Timothy would wish to instigate a program to begin developing a proper schooling system for them. And with Jason’s thirst for knowledge and his fondness for even the most ‘soul-suckingly institutional’ forms of education, Timothy can hardly be faulted for assuming that Jason might agree.
How he went about endeavoring with his developmental leanings, however, revealed that Timothy’s thinking on the matter was rather egregiously flawed.
Essentially, he bullied a prestigious preparatory academy into building an outreach campus in the very neighborhood in which the new halfway house was located. He included terms that wound up requiring both teachers and students to log a certain number of voluntary hours on the secondary campus— teaching both practical and academic skills, offering tutoring services, and participating in joint activities.
It was, quite honestly, a brilliant little scheme.
Timothy allowed for the accrual volunteer hours (under both umbrellas of governmental civil service and the humanities’ of public welfare) for well-off youngsters from Gotham to have an edge over those from other cities in pursuit of Ivy League acceptance letters, gave privileged and sequestered kids real-world experiences with those less fortunate than they, and managed to give underprivileged children a network of contacts to mitigate the worst of their disadvantages. He ensured that none of the children from the Bowery had to pay, and he made the sort of intermingling that occurred slant the children of disparate backgrounds towards building legitimate friendships as they conquered common goals.
The exact education programs the outreach school included were quite beautifully progressive and subtly described— things Timothy had been tinkering with for years.
If he had taken two more years to introduce the programs slowly… perhaps they would have slid seamlessly into place.
However, instead of two years, Timothy used his money and his influence to get the program off the ground in two months— almost miraculously finishing early enough to meet the self-imposed deadline of opening the new school’s doors in time for the start of school that year.
Still, it didn’t have to become the fight it did.
Six months prior, it would have only resulted in Timothy fending off a burst of blinding rage induced by the Lazarus Pit warping good intentions and a few days of treading carefully.
In some ways, was heartening that they had reached a point where frank discussion and full honesty were considered requisites between them.
But when Timothy told Jason that he’d ‘dropped’ approximate 7 billion dollars on the enterprise— of his own money, mind, not as part of any Wayne Enterprises or Drake Industries venture for the public good— Jason went ballistic.
Miss Stephanie filled in the detail that Tim had tried to make it better by explaining what small fraction of his own annual income such an expenditure was for him and that, obviously, had only served to make things far worse.
And then he’d sealed his fate by finishing off with saying that his typical 1.5 billion dollar per annum wasn’t even all of it. That was just what he made legally as Timothy Jason Drake-Wayne. He had a dozen other identities with reasonable salaries accruing capital besides.
Timothy had taken quite a swim that night in the Harbor, but he had not taken a real beating (to master Jason’s significant credit) and Richard had been alerted to his predicament before Jason had fled the scene (after having the presence of mind, even so incensed, to wait for Timothy to surface safely).
Jason fled Gotham altogether. And soon after then, the planet.
He spent the next two weeks productively in space, and a third back on earth but skittishly away. He likely would have stayed away for longer, but an Arkham escape changed the scenery— not in a way that immediately called him home, as the Rogues were subdued quite quickly, but in the aftermath as Timothy caught a bad spell of pneumonia from having fought a prolonged battle against Mr. Freeze.
Jason stayed at Timothy’s bedside— or in it with him— through the bulk of the ordeal.
There were a few admirably vociferous discussions from Timothy’s sickbed, but nothing too much a setback for his cough. And it allowed Timothy and Jason to come to deeper understandings of each other (and adopt a more reasonable propriety, in Timothy’s case).
They did not make any drastic changes afterwards, but their closeness became far more casual than it had been before— less shyly tentative and careful.
October saw another great trial.
Fear gas.
Jason was dosed directly— a needle to the neck, injecting him with a condensed and concentrated liquid form of the latest formula for the fear-inducing aerosol.
It showed a tremendous improvement in Jason’s relationships with all the others that Jason came to the Cave for aid— came straight to Richard asking for help.
Richard got an isolation cell set up, dragged Timothy away (placing him safely in the care of Stephanie and Cassandra), and then returned to help his little brother ride out the worst the heinous drug could offer.
It was a distressing few days, followed by a very quiet and careful half a week, but by Halloween, the easy air was back between them. The Family, as a whole (including Bruce, Selina, and even Alfred) attended a Halloween festival put on by master Damian’s school. They managed to fully enjoy it— and to have gathered voluntary, photographic evidence of such.
Thanksgiving was another tense affair.
With the Foxes and Miss Gordon’s father in attendance, as usual, but with the addition of Selina Kyle. Commissioner Gordon took her presence well, better honestly than he took Jason’s—and his acceptance of her mere presence certainly came more easily than his acceptance of Jason’s full story (as he was rightly due to hear it).
The Commissioner only made one comment on Jason’s potentially hazardous instability, regarding to whom it might be most particularly hazardous, but by now the man knew well enough that Timothy’s slight figure and delicately featured face concealed a diamond core— precious, but nigh impervious and clear-sighted.
The whole Family was more open with their skinship, and softer with their smiles. Even the few beats where things turned caustic or indelicately awkward smoothed themselves over soon, without any deliberately diffusive interventions.
It was Christmas that proved to be the most challenging demonstration of just how far the Family had come.
Jason went, mostly willing, to the Wayne Gala on Christmas Eve— as Timothy’s plus one.
The tabloids had a field day, as even when he’d been involved publicly during his other romantic relationships, he’d never brought a genuine plus one— either one of his sisters or his assistant had always been the person on his arm.
But from the moment they walked in together, it was clear to anyone with eyes that the long-coveted young CEO had never looked at anyone quite that way before.
Jason didn’t spend that night at the Manor.
In point of fact, he didn’t even leave the party with his partner. He made his escape around midnight, wasn’t heard from again by anyone until Christmas day at noon.
He came to Wayne Manor and spent the remainder of the day with his Family, entirely at ease. He even helped Alfred for several hours in the kitchen, allowing him the extra hands (skilled hands) needed to make the dinner something truly special.
That night Jason remained within the Manor’s walls.
He did not sleep well, exactly, but he looked at least decently rested when Alfred found him reading in the breakfast nook just a few hours after dawn.
They shared a cup of tea in a welcome sort of easy quiet.
When conversation did strike up, it was as comfortable as could be expected.
Anxieties like those that Jason harbored were not simple things to waylay. And last Boxing Day had seen the height of them in play.
Alcohol and mistletoe had been involved this year, as well as what such jovial encouragement oft led to, but what mattered more was that it wasn’t anything more than what Timothy had initiated in a moment stolen from the Gala— fully sober and with clear delight.
All that he had wanted Christmas Eve were kisses and closeness.
And that’s all he’d asked for Christmas Night.
Jason had been the one to realize that he would like to take things further.
Timothy had let him dictate the extent to which they moved, and, also at what pace. He’d managed to avoid alarming Jason with just how ready he could be for whatever Jason wanted, and he’d made no indication that what he got was not enough.
Conversely, he’d reacted like what little more they’d done was worth the moon and more.
If Jason could only know of Alfred’s own, rather salacious, past he might feel far more comfortable discussing such matters with his adoptive grandfather, but the boy managed well enough by keeping his gaze locked on what shadows lay in the depths of his teacup.
Alfred’s words didn’t quite console him, but unfortunately there was nothing external to be done. This matter was a quirk of confusion internal to Jason’s own being, true comfort starting to erode a lifetime of wary habit.
But Alfred’s advice and gentle, permeating sense of welcome, allowed Jason to find his feet on walking down the path towards peace. He might’ve made it there that very morning, but it’s just as likely that he would have not.
They never had to deal with discovering the outcome as Timothy stumbled into the Kitchen only a few short moments after. The dear boy looked a disaster, as unfortunately was his norm, but what caught Jason’s attention was his attire rather than demeanor.
He’d pulled on a pair of thermal leggings, but he was draped in one of Jason’s own, long forgotten and discarded, shirts. The collar hung off Timothy’s shoulders in manner that Jason’s instant heavy blush declared he found delectable.
Flustered to the point of wordlessness, Jason fled the Manor— his only attempt to say goodbye being an inarticulate floundering and a flash of wide, embarrassed eyes.
Timothy took a good few items that belonged to Jason with him when he packed for the two weeks he was due to spend in California, and at least one sweatshirt that had once belonged to Richard. He came back bundled up for winter, but when he trained hard enough to keep warm without his layers, he didn’t hesitate to shed them.
He didn’t quite start wearing shorts and sporting jerseys, but his hems creeped cautiously to three-quarters length, and then after that to half.
By the new year, things were truly settled.
A new year brings new life, after all, and hope is one that springs eternal.
While Family is complicated, this Family in particular— and while bearing up the bonds could be seen as only occasional, but nigh unendurably painful— the notion that Love conquers all has always proved a true one.
Family is not just worth everything, not just worth the pain and strife and turmoil, Family is everything— it is everything.
Family is everything that matters, and the ineffable, uncontrollable bindings of the dire affection inherent in the very concept of a family is part of what allows a family’s members to understand themselves and their constituent pieces as a cohesive whole.
A person’s connections to others define them, help to test some of their self-designs as much they help support others.
Family is not at all a blood connection— the blood shared by biological families simply gives a familial connection good reason take root. But true Family is fought for, fought through, and the connections that develop into true Family bonds are unbreakable by any means of force, particularly for those without the benefit of time’s more bland accustoming engendering infants to bond with caretakers.
Alfred Pennyworth has seen his Family shattered, has seen it change and grow, has seen it repair fissures that would rend a star to icy pieces of nothing more than cosmic dust.
He’s seen his loved ones’ lives be smashed to devastation, seen their ruins be rebuilt.
His final word upon the matter is simple:
Life is hard, and brief, and painful, but there’s beauty in it and joy. It may be utterly unbearable to walk the earth alone, but with the proper willingness to suffer one may find the truest grace of Love.
Love can complicate an already difficult path, and the easily-entangled different kinds of Love can compound the complicating effect, but in the end the strife is always worth it.
Whether by the unique enchantment of inconsolable pride in watching as a child comes into their own, or by the warm, ecstatic glee of looking at a lover and just knowing in your very soul that you could never lose yourself in giving your all over to another.
Life and Death, new births and remakings, the very doubt and proof of God… While support and safeguards and an awareness that toxicity must be resolved are necessary, not all intolerable acts are born of hatred. While letting go of a sickened, soured love may be necessary in some circumstances— and while caution is due in attempting to repair a severed bond— Love does not let go so easily, and ignoring that or forcing it away too quickly, may not be for the best.
There’s a difference between abuse and accident, and not all hurts can be healed, but most can. And they should all be granted the potential. Hurt people hurt people.
To get a person to be where you want them, you, first, must start out where they are.
Love is Love is Love is Love.
It can never be anything either more or less than that.
________