Work Text:
7:55.
Bruce sat alone in his bedroom, watching reruns of "The Gray Ghost" on his iPad. With his noise cancelling headphones on, the world seemed to disappear around him, the only thing left to focus on being the Gray Ghost investigating a mysterious bank robbery.
The days dragged on in the months following his parents' deaths. Gotham was already a dreary place to live, but with Thomas and Martha dead, any light that remained appeared to have been snuffed out. Without them at his side, Bruce retreated into himself more and more, hiding away from the rest of the world.
7:56.
The only comfort Bruce found now was in his routine. In a city so upended by crime and constant turmoil, it was something he could rely on. He would come home from school, finish his homework, then retreat to his bedroom to watch "The Gray Ghost."
7:57.
He would watch it for two hours until Alfred came home, at which point, he would have to start getting ready for bed. It was the same cycle, day in and day out, and though most kids might find it boring, it provided Bruce with much needed stability.
7:58.
It took Bruce a long time to get used to Alfred. New people were outsiders, he couldn't trust them easily. But Alfred actually seemed like he cared. He watched "Gray Ghost" with Bruce, even if he couldn't remember all the names of the characters. He didn't make fun of Bruce for being quiet. He listened to Bruce as he rambled about dinosaurs. Bruce didn't know how to tell Alfred that he felt safe with him, but he had a feeling Alfred knew that already. People had said that Bruce might have to live with someone else after his parents died, but he didn't want anyone else. He wanted Alfred.
7:59.
Alfred would be home soon. He always came home at 8:00, maybe 8:01 if traffic was bad. Alfred would knock three times on Bruce's bedroom door, but Bruce wouldn't hear him on account of the headphones, so he would slowly open the door. Bruce would see the light coming in from outside and take off his headphones, knowing that Alfred would ask him questions about how his day went. For a moment, things would feel normal.
8:00.
Bruce shifted back on the bed and relaxed, waiting for Alfred to open his bedroom door and ask him how his day was.
Only, Alfred wasn't there.
Bruce waited a minute. Maybe traffic was just bad. Sometimes that happened. It scared Bruce at first, but by now, he was accustomed to Alfred coming home a minute or two late.
Another minute passed. Then two, then three. Alfred still wasn't home yet, and Bruce was starting to get anxious. Bruce put down his iPad and took off his headphones, listening for the familiar, rhythmic thumps of Alfred's limping footfalls.
But there was nothing.
Bruce jumped down from his bed and poked his head outside his bedroom door. He couldn't see Alfred anywhere, and the silence throughout the floor echoed louder than his footsteps ever did. Bruce checked his phone, only to see that it was 8:07. Alfred had never been this late before.
The boy's heart began to race as he stepped into the hallway, looking around for Alfred. Maybe Alfred was just trying to surprise him? But that wasn't him. He didn't do surprises. He knew Bruce didn't like them, he wouldn't do something like that.
Bruce couldn't bring himself to go any farther. Alone and afraid, the ceilings above him seemed to stretch up even farther, the hallway growing longer, the rooms around him felt too big, too revealing. The silence rang in his ears. He was alone, exposed, revealed to the rest of Gotham.
Bruce ran back into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. His mind raced with ideas about where Alfred was.
He's probably just in traffic, Bruce thought. He's just stuck. He'll be home.
What if he was in a car crash?
No! That can't happen! He's gotta be ok!
What if he left you for good? What if the bad men took him away?
Alfred would never leave me! And they can't take him, they can't!
What if he's dead? What if he got shot too? What if he won't ever come home? What if what if what if what if-
Bruce couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He could barely bring himself to breathe. Panic clawed at his mind like a trapped animal trying to break open the bars of its cage. Every instinct telling him to bolt remained bottled up inside, like a Molotov ready to explode. Every ounce of tensed energy inside him echoed one thought over and over in his mind.
Where are you?
🦇🦇🦇
Alfred stepped out of the elevator, shivering and clutching a file to his chest. He hated coming home late, but the stop by the courthouse had taken a lot longer than he had expected.
"Bruce," Alfred said as he set the file of papers on the dining room table, "I'm home."
When Alfred made his way over to Bruce's bedroom, something felt very wrong. He could hear Bruce breathing heavily from the other side of the door. His anxiety grew as he slowly pushed the door open and saw Bruce sitting on the bed, headphones and tablet on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest.
"Bruce?" Alfred said quietly. "Is everything alright?"
The boy's head turned to face Alfred, and the older man could see the panic in his eyes. Alfred made his way over and sat on the edge of the bed, careful to give Bruce his space.
"Bruce, are you alright?" Alfred asked again.
The boy didn't say anything as he lunged over towards Alfred, wrapping his arms around the older man and burying his head in his shoulder. Alfred gently hugged Bruce back, and he could tell by the way Bruce was sniffling that he'd been crying hard.
"Thought you weren't coming home," Bruce mumbled, and the realization sank in for Alfred. No wonder he was so upset, his routine had been disrupted.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," Alfred said gently. "I had to run some errands that took longer than I thought they would. I should've-"
"No," Bruce said a bit louder. "You weren't gonna come home."
Alfred didn't get what Bruce was getting at initially, but once he understood, he felt as if his heart might shatter.
"Now, you listen to me, Bruce," Alfred said, hoping he sounded more sure of himself than he felt, "I will always come home to you, I promise."
Bruce pulled away from the hug, pale blue eyes wet with tears. "You promise?"
"Bruce," Alfred said as he put his hands on Bruce's shoulders, "I promised your mum and dad that I would take care of you. You are the one person I care the most about in this world, you hear me? No matter what happens, Bruce, I will always, always come home to you."
Bruce sniffled and nodded, then asked, "But what if those bad men take me away?"
"They won't," Alfred insisted. "CPS won't take you anywhere. They won't put you anywhere else. They won't even be able to lay a finger on you. This is your home, Bruce. I won't let them take you from here."
From me.
"I'm right here, Bruce," Alfred said, a note of finality in his voice. He opened his arms for a hug, and Bruce collapsed into his arms, squeezing him as tightly as he could. Alfred rubbed Bruce's back as he cried, letting the boy get all of his emotions out.
As the two sat there on Bruce's bed, something steeled itself within Alfred's mind.
He might not have been Bruce's father, but Bruce was his boy, and he would fight with his life to make sure that no one would ever hurt him like this again.