Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

🦇

Bruce emptied out his new crayons onto the table. 

He’d managed to sneak away from one of the nannies. Bruce had been playing with the hose in the garden and aimed it towards her. Giggling when she shrieked and ran off, her new uniform soaked. He’d dropped the hose and ran back inside, not bothering to change out of his outdoor shoes as he hurried towards the storage room he knew his birthday presents were hidden in. 

“I would not do that if I were you.”

Bruce jumped up, his head whipping over to the voice. But he calmed down. It wasn’t Mother or Father. Just Alfie. One of the employees who were closer to the family than the others were. He was in charge of all the other staff members. 

“I’m only taking one.” Bruce justified, looking back to the mountains of wrapped gifts. Bruce knew one of the staff was tasked with buying and wrapping the presents, so even if he opened one and played with it, his parents would never even realise. They didn’t know what was under the wrappings either. 

“You’re being disobedient, Master Bruce.” Alfie said, hands behind his back and standing straight. “Nanny Evangelina found me and she was quite distraught. And now you have created more work for the poor cleaners with your muddy shoes.”

Bruce shrugged, too occupied looking for the least suspicious present. “She’ll be gone soon anyways.”

“I will have to report this to your Father.”

Now that got Bruce’s attention. “You can’t! It wasn’t my fault!”

Alfie raised a brow, “then who’s?”

Bruce pouted, “the sprinklers turned on. She’s lying if she said it was me.”

“Ah, is she? I suppose we’ll have to let her go then.” 

“Fine,” Bruce said and spotted a small enough present. “I’m turning six next week, Alfie. I can do what I want. Father can’t boss me around anymore.”

“Well, if you are so certain.”

And with that, Alfie turned and finally left Bruce alone. 

Now Bruce was enjoying his new birthday present. He’d brought some paper with him and made sure to double it in case the crayons made marks through the paper and onto the table. Mother was very angry the last time he made that mistake. 

He only got as far as drawing a little sun in the corner of his page when he heard loud footsteps near the door. 

An instant lump lodged itself in his throat. His chest fell heavy and his limbs weak. Bruce looked to the door, his Father appearing in sight. 

There were lines on Father’s forehead again. They weren’t there often. Usually the lines would be in the crinkles of his eyes, playing Bruce’s favourite Zorro games or teaching him how to swim in the indoor pool. 

But when the lines got on his forehead, Bruce wanted to cry. 

“I didn’t—” 

Bruce shut his mouth the moment Father’s eyes sharpened. He wasn’t supposed to make excuses. 

“You didn’t what?” Father pushed. 

Bruce felt his chin quiver. “I didn’t mean to, Father.”

“Didn’t mean to what?” He crossed his arms. 

The boy sniffed, feeling his eyes well up. “To steal my present.”

Father glanced over at the crayons. Bruce realised that Father probably hadn't even known.

“What else?”

“For…lying to Alfie and… and ruining Nanny’s dress.” Bruce revealed in a whisper and fidgeted with his thumbs. 

“Nanny’s dress, that’s what you did that has upset me. Poor Nanny was in tears. You do not spray people. That was very rude.” Father said sharply. 

Bruce hiccuped, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Father shook his head and went towards the couch of the room, “come here.”

Bruce leaned away, “I’m sorry.”

“Now, Bruce.” Father snapped and sat down. 

Bruce, with wobbly legs, slipped off the chair and took tiny steps towards Father. “I’m sorry, please.” 

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Bruce stopped when he got close enough but that didn’t matter, Father grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. This was where Bruce’s willpower broke, struggling to get out of his grip. “I’m sorry!” 

His struggling did nothing against the grown man. Father pulled down his shorts gently, and Bruce didn’t have enough sense to be grateful he was allowed to keep his underwear on this time, before he was being laid over on Father’s lap.

“No!” Bruce screamed. No matter how many times they did this, or how many times Mother would kiss his forehead and explain that mature children didn’t cause this much fuss, Bruce could never be a good boy. He could never lay still. He always fought. His heart thundered. He didn’t know how to be good. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Stop— Bruce, enough.” Father grumbled. 

Bruce felt Father pinning his kicking legs down by putting his own big heavy leg on top of Bruce’s little ones. Bruce wailed, burying his face into the sofa in front of him to muffle it, knowing he was ruining it with his tears and snot. He hoped the cleaner managed to fix it before Mother noticed.

He prepared himself as much as he could but the first spank still hurt. Bruce cried and cried as Father brought his hand down over and over. He knew he was bad. He was so so bad. Why couldn’t he just be good?

Bruce was still crying when he felt himself being shifted, Father pulling him up to sit him on his lap. The pitch of his cry sharpened when he was sat up on his sore bottom but that was a part of the punishment, wasn’t it? 

Father shushed him lovingly, wrapping his arms around Bruce and tucking his little body into him, resting his chin on Bruce's soft hair. “Shh, darling. All done now. Good boy, Brucie. Shhh”

Bruce leaned in and his small hands came to hold onto Fathers shirt, absently aware that he was ruining the ironing and getting his tears on it, but Father just pulled him closer, not caring about it when his baby was crying. 

“Oh, Bruce, I hate when you work yourself up.” Father sighed and rocked them sideways. “It’s okay now, it’s all better now.”

Bruce gasped through a sob. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” He choked out, his chest heaving. 

“Shhh, all's forgiven now. Good boy.” Father kissed the top of his head and pulled his shorts up to cover his bottom. “I love you, Brucie.”

When Father stood up, picking the boy up with him, Bruce closed his eyes as he tried to calm down while Father walked down the halls. 

“Alfred,” Father said in a soft whisper over Bruce’s head. “Can you freshen Bruce up for dinner?”

“Of course, Mister Wayne.” Bruce heard Alfie respond and kept his eyes shut as he was transferred from Father’s warmth to Alfie’s. 

“For the last time,” Father chuckled and clapped a hand on Alfie's arm. “Call me Thomas.”

“Of course, Mister Wayne.” Alfie said and Bruce heard the smile in his voice. “Come, Master Bruce. Let’s have you washed up.”

Bruce sniffed and snuggled his face into the crook of Alfie’s neck. “Sorry, Alfie.”

“It’s quite alright, dear boy.” Alfie said. “Why must you make such a fuss over something small?”

Bruce whined, “it’s not small.”

Alfie placed Bruce on the counter by the sparkling sink, Bruce winced at the pressure back on his bottom. Alfie found a washcloth, wetting it as he smiled fondly at the boy. “What isn’t, Master Bruce?”

“The punishment.” Bruce whined again. “It’s not small, it hurts.”

Alfie chuckled, tipping Bruce’s face up and wiping the tears off his face. “Does it now? Yes, love can hurt.”

Bruce pouted.

“Only parents who discipline their children truly love them, Master Bruce.” Alfred said gently, picking up a hairbrush. “You do not want to grow up to be spoiled. And either way, child, your father is so gentle with you.”

The young boy hummed, slumping as Alfie brushed his curls. 

“My own father, my, he’d never use his hand.”

Bruce perked up, he loved hearing Alfie’s stories. 

“He’d pick up a stick, a chimney poker or a cane, and he’d whack me with it till it tore my skin.” Alfie shook his head with a nostalgic smile. “You resent them at first, but he made me a good man.”

Bruce frowned, not liking that story that much. “Didn’t it hurt?”

“Of course,” Alfie put the brush away, searching through Bruce’s wardrobe for his evening wear. 

“Did you cry?” Bruce asked curiously. 

“Goodness, no.” Alfie found something suitable. “Men don’t cry, Master Bruce. If my father caught me crying then—” he paused, glancing over. “Let’s save that tale for when you’re older.”

“Oh, okay.” Bruce kicked his hanging legs back and forth. 

Alfie came closer to help Bruce out of his clothes and change. He took a quick glance and nodded. “Not a single mark on you. Your father is a good man, Master Bruce.”

Bruce smiled as he pulled his fresh shorts up. He was lucky. 

Mother opened her arms when she caught Bruce walking into the dining room. 

He ran over to her, climbing up onto her lap, nuzzling his face into her shoulder as he avoided putting any weight on his bottom. 

“Hi, darling. Your father says you were up to a little mischief.” She said, pecking the side of his head. 

“I said I was sorry,” he pouted. 

“Yes, well, you know he only wants what’s best for you.” She reminded him. “You shouldn’t have done that to your poor nanny. Miss Emilie didn’t appreciate it.”

“Miss Evangelina,” he corrected in a mumble. 

“Oh, was it? You go through so many it’s hard to keep track.”

“Do you think,” Bruce leaned back so she could look at him. “That maybe we could spend more time together while you look for a new one?”

She brushed a curl behind his ear and smiled, “my sweet baby, you know how busy your father and I are.”

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed. “But just while you’re lookin’.”

“Oh, but we already found one. I think you’ll like this one, she’s looked after lots of kids before.” Mother said delightedly. 

Bruce slumped, face falling. “Oh.”

“Oh, Thomas, you’re here. Let’s get on with dinner now, shall we?” She said, kissing Bruce’s forehead before scooting him off to stand on his own feet.

Dejectedly, Bruce held onto her offered hand as they made their way to the dining hall. 

He’d have to think of another plan to get his parents to spend more time with him. 

Two years later there was a film, and in one of Bruce’s many plans, he convinced his Father and Mother that it would be a fun evening out. 

“Master Bruce,” Alfie said softly as he sat down next to him. There was a beat of hesitation before Bruce felt a hand lay itself tentatively on his shoulder. “There is a matter at hand.”

Bruce didn’t want to talk. He wanted to turn back the clock. He wanted his mother and father. 

It was all his fault. 

“It’s the police, my boy. There’s the matter of where you’ll live now.”

That caught Bruce’s attention. Red, swollen eyes looked up at Alfie. “What?”

“You see,” Alfie’s face twisted. “There’s your Uncle Phillip Kane. If you wish, you could go stay with him and your cousin.”

Fresh, stinging tears filled Bruce’s eyes. No, no, no.

“Or!” Alfie’s hand came up placating and rushed, quite unlike himself in a panic. “Or you could stay here. But you will have no family to tend to you.”

Bruce rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I can stay?”

“I would have to apply for your guardianship,” Alfred said with a shake of his head. “But would you not like to be with family?”

“No,” Bruce said. He didn’t know Uncle Phillip. They only met once in a family banquet, he barely counted as family. If Bruce was going to spend the rest of his life without any family, he wanted to at least do it with Alfie. “Can I stay?”

Alfie’s eyes shined wet. “Yes, my boy. We’ll stay together.”

🦇

Alfred had dealt with Master Bruce and his boisterous behaviour since the day he was born. But he had never dealt with any child after the tragedy of losing both of their parents in front of them. 

It was not any typical foster situation. Master Bruce was also mourning. Also hurt. And he was well aware that the eight year old was in a much deeper state of despair than Alfred was. So he let a lot of misbehaviour slide. 

He was Master Bruce’s guardian on paper because of his abnormally close bond with the Waynes. That did not imply that was in any way cut out for that position.

Master Bruce was quieter now. He kept to himself more. No one to beg for attention to. 

But Alfred noted that the depressive state shifted to something akin to anger. Master Bruce started snapping at the other employees more. Shouting at them and calling them names. 

Alfred decided it was time for them to leave. He had asked Master Bruce first, the boy was still his employer, and then all that was left was Alfred. 

So he began to take on the jobs of cooking and cleaning. He stumbled at first, throwing away burned dishes and tripping over all the laundry. However, as time passed, he became better. 

He also became better at managing the boy’s behaviour. At first, the majority of the issues were dismissed. Alfred’s soft heart reminding him over and over that the boy was grieving. Not only that, but he wasn’t the child’s father. He had no right over him. 

It wasn’t until Master Bruce’s teacher phoned and asked Alfred what he was going to do about the child’s behaviour. Reminding him that he was, in fact, his guardian. 

It was his responsibility. 

Master Bruce had been running down the halls. 

Alfred never asked what he was up to, but the nine year old was evidently busy. Sometimes, Master Bruce’s depression seemed to pass, an idea would pop in his head and he just had to do it. 

Letting the child be a child, Alfred busied himself with folding away clean clothes. 

“Master Bruce,” Alfred called as he heard the rushing of steps, “please refrain from running indoors.” He reminded him. 

And he was, as usual, ignored. 

He was about to finish putting away the last of it when he heard a crash. 

“Bruce!” Alfred cried, dropping whatever was in his hands and hurrying out the room. 

The boy stood still, back ramrod straight, but otherwise unharmed. 

Alfred had a hand on his chest, trying to calm his violent heart. On the carpeted floor beside Master Bruce was an antique vase. Smashed into bits, flowers scattered and water seeping into the carpet. 

A flash of anger hit Alfred. “I had informed you not to run inside.”

He watched something similar shine in Master Bruce’s eyes. “It’s my house.”

That had Alfred raise a brow. The boy never lifted a single finger to help. At the very least, Thomas and Martha contributed to the running of the household. Yes, the child was allowed to be a child. But some gratitude was expected. 

Alfred refused to raise a spoiled heir. 

“If it is your house then I will fetch you a dustpan and brush and allow you to clean your mess.” He nodded. 

The boy folded his arms, glaring at Alfred. “No. You do it.”

“Excuse me?” Alfred felt his eye twitch.

“I’m your boss, so you do it!” Master Bruce said, stomping a foot. 

That was it. 

“I will not speak to a spoiled child.” Alfred said and turned away. He marched straight to one of the Manor’s cleaning cupboards and retrieved a dustpan and brush as promised. Then he came back, the boy was still standing there, arms crossed and a scowling red face. He was expecting something, and Alfred refused to give it. He just dropped the items, and walked away. 

He went back to the room, picking up the clothes he had dropped. He was putting them all back into the basket when Master Bruce walked up to the doorway.

“Alfie?” He asked. 

But Alfred picked up the basket and turned, walking out as if he had not heard anything. 

“Alfie, wait.” Master Bruce followed him. They passed by the mess in the hall. They ended up in Master Bruce’s bedroom and in his walk-in cupboard. Alfred mechanically folded up each item and set them in their rightful places. 

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Bruce asked. Walking around to peer at his face. 

Alfred ignored him. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed Master Bruce’s face turn red. 

“Fine!” He shouted. “Go away!” 

Despite his words, it was Master Bruce who marched off. Where he went, considering they were in his bedroom, Alfred wasn’t sure. But he kept his feet firm, determined to let this lesson stick. 

As dinner approached, Alfred placed Master Bruce’s plate in the dining room before the boy could appear and left before their paths could cross. Choosing to eat his meal elsewhere.

When he went to fetch the plate, he noticed it was hardly touched. The boy wasn’t starving otherwise he’d have finished his food. Master Bruce’s mind must be elsewhere and Alfred hoped it was on this lesson. 

Alfred did not go to remind Master Bruce of his bedtime, nor did he tuck him in. 

The next day, Alfred ensured that whenever he heard the nine year old’s feet, he had somewhere else to be. Avoiding the child entirely. He still placed every meal on the table, but otherwise made sure there was no interaction. 

The third day, Alfred was in the kitchen making lunch. The pot so loud, he failed to hear Master Bruce until the child was near him. 

Alfred made sure to go around the kitchen, not paying him any attention. 

“Alfie?” Master Bruce said, his voice small as he fidgeted with his hands, a clumsy plaster on his finger. Alfred shoved away his concern. “I cleaned the mess.”

The meal was ready to be set to simmer, Alfred turned the flame low and put on a timer. 

“I’m really sorry.”

He wiped off his hands.

“Alfie?”

And left the kitchen. 

The fourth day, Alfred found a piece of paper on the kitchen counter. 

An amateur drawing of two stick figures, so obviously him and Master Bruce, holding hands. A little sun in the corner. 

He felt the presence of Master Bruce standing by the entrance. 

And as much as it hurt his heart, Alfred knew he needed to make a strong man of Master Bruce. 

So, making sure those eyes were still on him, he picked up the paper and tossed it in the bin. 

The fifth day, Alfred felt true pain in his chest. But he had to be strong. He had to be a good guardian for this boy. Good guardians disciplined their children. This was nothing compared to what his own father and teachers would do to him. 

He was in the conservatory when Master Bruce found him. Dusting the rarely used furniture. 

“Please,” Master Bruce was pulling on his coat, tears running down his face. “Please, I’m sorry. Please, just talk to me!”

Alfred lifted a cushion and fluffed it. 

“Alfie!” Master Bruce shrieked through his heaving chest. “Look at me! I’m here! Please, look! I won’t be spoiled anymore. Alfie, talk to me, please.”

Ignoring the child tugging at his clothes, Alfred bent over to dust some shelves. Trying to dismiss the pain in his gut. He also needed to remind himself to have Master Bruce trim his nails. They were getting quite long. 

“I’ll never ever do it again. I won’t run inside anymore. I’ll never ever ever do it! I’ll clean up my messes always. I’m sorry, Alfie, please, just look at me!” 

Deeming the conservatory clean enough, Alfred walked away. 

Master Bruce shrieked and fell on the floor, crying in his hands. 

As Alfred swallowed down the lump in his throat, he thought that the boy needed to learn to grow up. 

The sixth day, Master Bruce followed him in the shadows. Keeping to himself. Alfred pretended he wasn’t there. 

On the seventh day, Master Bruce did not seek out Alfred. 

By the end of the week, Alfred decided it was time. 

He went into Master Bruce’s bedroom early in the morning. The child was still asleep, curled up in his rather large bed. 

He sat himself on the edge, and ran a hand through Master Bruce’s curls.

Master Bruce’s face twitched, but as he continued to card his fingers through his hair, the child blinked awake. 

Abruptly, he became aware and shot himself upright, large wide eyes staring at Alfred. 

Alfred suppressed a fond chuckle at the reaction but allowed himself a small smile. “Did you have a good sleep, Master Bruce?”

Master Bruce’s jaw dropped and the next thing Alfred knew, the child had thrown himself onto Alfred, small arms wrapping around to cling to him. 

Alfred caught himself from falling back, arms coming around to brace his employer. “Oh, dear!”

The child was sobbing loudly, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he wailed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Alfred tsked and pushed Master Bruce away gently. “Calm yourself, child. What a few days of no attention has done to you. Tell me, what have you learned?”

Master Bruce’s eyes widened, anxiety evident on his face as his brain searched for the right answer. As if he was worried that Alfred would repeat the punishment. 

Good. It worked. He was rather proud of himself. That pride did little to soothe the ache of doubt in his chest however. 

“I… I was running in the halls and— and then I also broke a vase and then I was rude. And I shouted at you. And I didn’t listen. And I was spoiled. And… and…”

“That’s quite enough,” Alfred said, feeling bad for the poor boy. “And you made quite a fuss over something so small.”

Master Bruce sniffed, “what?”

“Men don’t cry, Master Bruce. Especially not for something as insignificant as no attention. That is the type of reaction you’d expect from a little girl.” Alfred once more shifted Master Bruce away, the boy still trying to cling on. Alfred pulled out a handkerchief, wiping Master Bruce’s round cheeks. “If you ever dislike something, I expect not to see you make such a commotion but rather take the punishment like a man.”

“But I’m not a man.” He frowned. 

“You need to practice being one.” Alfred said, “no one becomes an adult overnight. And it’s my job as your guardian to help you get there.”

“So… so when I didn’t follow you yesterday…”

“I was proud you had finally gotten bolder.” Alfred smiled. “Next time, you should try not to make such a fuss.”

Master Bruce’s chin quivered. “Next time?”

“As I said, no one becomes an adult overnight. It takes time and practice. I’ve been letting your misbehaviour slide for too long.” Alfred said and stood up. “Come, shall we have breakfast together?”

Rubbing away the remnants of his tears with the back of his hand, Master Bruce nodded and slid off the bed. 

Before he could reach for Alfred’s hand, the butler pulled it away. Master Bruce was getting far too old for hand holding. 

🦇

It was a cold day, windows rattling and snow building up in the roads. Alfred had been enjoying the cosy weather, letting Master Bruce indulge in festive fun. 

He’d so far made hot chocolate and together they created a gingerbread house. Alfred changed the young Master’s wardrobe to include more winter themed sweaters. They even built a snowman outside. 

It was a joy to see the ten year old allow such frivolities. The young boy missed the last few Christmas years, preferring to stay in his darkened room. But this year Alfred persisted. He did not want Master Bruce to grow up and resent how much he missed out on. 

Alfred still wasn’t able to convince the young Master to invite his school friends for a Christmas party but perhaps one day the table would be full again.  

Master Bruce had been in a lovely mood this morning before the kitchen radio chimed in an advertisement to do with spending ‘Christmas with families’, so the child was now back to his gloomy self. 

Handily, Alfred had purchased a Christmas special of Zorro. 

“Really?” Master Bruce grinned, “I thought they were going to stop making new films.”

“I suppose their audience convinced them to reconsider.” Alfred suggested. 

He’d never admit to Master Bruce that he had written to the producers the day the weepy boy told him, adding a small check that should keep their motivations high. 

“Will you watch it with me?” Master Bruce asked. 

Something in Alfred’s heart tugged to say yes but… it was too personal to do so. “You see—”

“Please, Alfie?” Master Bruce tilted his head with a hopeful look. “It’ll be fun?”

Alfred sighed, mind and heart battling. “Oh, alright. Just this once.”

Master Bruce bit back a cheer but he grinned, getting comfortable on the couch. Alfred went over to the single armchair. They should maintain some boundaries. 

The film was a success to Master Bruce’s mood. Alfred smiled to himself as he washed the dinner’s dishes. He could hear the boy’s shouts and cheers as he jumped on furniture, having donned his Zorro costume. 

It was adorable when Master Bruce had first worn it years ago, back when his parents were still alive. They offered to buy him the real thing but he was more than content in the silly home-made costume that he had made himself. Having found a silk pillowcase for a cape and an old black cowboy hat. He’d even cut out a flimsy domino mask from a T-shirt, much to Alfred’s disdain. 

Drying off his hands, he realised it was late and Master Bruce had to go to bed. He went to the television room to remind him but frowned when the boy wasn’t there. 

“Master Bruce?” He called out and walked down the corridor. “Master Bruce, it is time for bed.”

Checking through each room he passed, he finally got to the library when he spotted Master Bruce. 

Except Master Bruce wasn’t jumping on the couch or sliding his socks on the wooden floor. Instead he was high up. High on the bookcase. Too high. 

“Master Bruce!” Alfred shouted. 

His voice startled the lad who wobbled, wide eyed, but thankfully he steadied himself. Master Bruce then hurriedly climbed down the shelves. 

“I was only playing.” He was quick to lament. “I wasn’t going to fall.”

But Alfred was too busy trying to breathe. His heart thumping through his ribcage. Images of the boy’s head open on the floor. A small grave beside his parents’. 

“Alfie, I’m okay. I didn’t mean to.”

“What,” Alfred forced himself to say. “Do you think you were doing?”

Master Bruce had the decency to look down at his feet, pulling off his pillowcase of a cape and tugging his hat off. “I was pretending to be Zorro. Fighting bad guys. You know…” 

Zorro. It was all Alfred’s fault. He’d gone and encouraged Master Bruce to enjoy such childish things like films about masked vigilantes. 

Whatever was on Alfred’s face had Master Bruce clutching the Zorro hat in front of him, as if it was a shield between him and the world. 

“You do not,” Alfred snapped. “Put yourself in danger like that.”

That was when Master Bruce scowled, looking back up at Alfred. “I wasn’t in danger, I knew what I was doing.”

Alfred’s head was swimming. Master Bruce thought it was alright. He would do it again. He would slip. He’d end up dead. Alfred would lose his the little boy. 

He barely realised it when he grabbed Master Bruce by the wrist and stormed off towards the boy’s room. The costume left behind. 

“Alfie!” He shouted and Alfred felt a small hand try to pry his stronger one off. “Ouch, let go!”

Instead, Alfred dragged him down the halls and up the stairs. An ex-soldier was not defeated by scrambling little fingers. 

Each step felt like a march through ice; his heart twisting when he imagined what it would’ve been like had Master Bruce slipped. 

By the time they had arrived at the bedroom, Master Bruce had stopped struggling and instead was trying to keep up with Alfred’s large steps. The flimsy Zorro mask had fallen off at some point on their journey. Alfred hit the light switch with a loud sound that had Master Bruce flinching. The child perhaps thinking some other punishment was to occur. Perhaps a repeat of Thomas’ preferred method. But no, Alfred was not in that position. He was not the boy’s father. 

“In.” Alfred ordered stiffly, pulling the child into the ensuite bathroom and placing him in front of the tub. 

Master Bruce stared at him in utter confusion. “Huh?”

“In.” Alfred repeated and put his hands on Master Bruce again, helping him to quickly climb into the tub. The lad stumbled in fully clothed, slipping once on the sleek porcelain. Alfred pushed down on his shoulder until he was sat and then without warning, before Master Bruce could question him, turned on the shower. 

The child yelped, flinching away from the cold water hitting his face but there was not much space to move anywhere. 

Alfred adjusted the shower head so it sprayed directly onto Master Bruce. Next, he turned on the bath tap and fitted in the plug so that the water would fill. 

“Alfie!” Master Bruce scrambled to stand. 

Alfred whipped his head towards Master Bruce. 

He did not know what look he had on his face, what his eyes showed, but whatever it was had Master Bruce flinching harder than the cold water had and the boy sat back down. 

“You are too old for make-belief fairytales, Master Bruce.” Alfred informed him. It was his own fault the child did not know. “You will no longer perform these dangerous stunts such as… climbing and jumping on furniture. Do you understand me?”

Master Bruce stared up at him. His arms having come around to hold himself as tiny trembles took over his body. The shower water hitting his skin, his clothes getting soaked. The freezing water filling the tub slowly.

He looked up at Alfred like he was confused. Like Alfred was in the wrong. 

The butler took a step closer. “Do you understand me?”

The shaking grew stronger but Master Bruce still nodded his head. 

A weight felt like it had lifted off of Alfred’s chest. The fear dissipating somewhat. 

But he still needed to make sure the lesson would stick. 

He went towards the bathroom window and shoved it open, letting the cold December wind in. Then Alfred made his way to the door. He turned to look at Master Bruce, the boy watching with wide, teary eyes. But he wouldn’t cry. Alfred knew he had matured enough to not cry anymore. 

“Stay.” He ordered, and shut the door behind him. 

Alfred watched the clock, having sat on Master Bruce’s bed. He wanted to burst in, to pick the child out of the freezing tub. But he needed Master Bruce to know he was wrong. He never wanted to feel that fear again. 

Once an hour had passed, Alfred’s eyes finally darted away from the clock. It had been long enough. He wanted Master Bruce’s punishment to be over. It was hurting him just as much as it must be hurting the lad. 

He found Master Bruce’s pajamas and set them aside. As he approached the bathroom door he noted the water seeping out from the crack of the door. “Oh, dear Lord.”

He opened the door. “You hadn’t thought to turn it off?”

Master Bruce quickly rubbed his face despite the shower directly spraying it and turned his head slightly to look at Alfred. The eleven year old was holding himself tight. Teeth chattering loudly, body shaking violently. 

“I d-d-didn’t think I w-was allowed t-to.” He stuttered. 

Carefully, Alfred stepped through the water and turned off the shower and tap. He made a face when he felt the water soak into his socks. A strong breeze blew in and he shuddered, closing the window next. 

“Come, child. I am sure you learned your lesson.” He said, grabbing a towel and approaching the boy. 

Master Bruce nodded through his tremors and reached out, holding onto Alfred’s forearms for balance as he climbed out. 

Alfred was cautious not to let the splashing water fall on him and as soon as Master Bruce was unsteadily standing, he let go, suppressing a shudder. The child was too cold to touch so Alfred wanted to avoid it. Master Bruce followed him out, teeth clattering and arms tight around himself. Alfred gestured to the clothes on the bed. “Change, dear boy. Leave your wet clothes in the bathroom. It is too late to deal with the mess now.”

Stepping out, Alfred sighed. He wished it wasn’t so challenging to be a guardian. He simply wasn’t good enough. He didn’t know what life lesson he missed that could explain how to raise a child. He frowned as he felt himself grow cold from his wet socks. He was not a fan of being cold. 

He knocked once on the door before letting himself back in. Master Bruce was stood still, hair wet but clothes dry. Still shivering violently. 

Alfred grabbed the towel he forgot to give the boy and approached, rubbing it into his hair. Master Bruce leaned in but Alfred shifted away as he dried him, the child was still much too cold to touch. 

Deeming him dry enough, Alfred gestured to the bed. Master Bruce wasted no time climbing in, trembling and shaking. 

The child’s eyes were red. Alfred supposed that showers tended to do that. 

Alfred settled down next to Master Bruce and pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucking him in. “There,” he breathed. “Oh, my boy. You worried me terribly.”

“S-sorry.” Master Bruce whispered. 

“I don’t want you having any more ideas like that. You could’ve been hurt.” Alfred waited a beat before trying his earlier triggering statement. “You do not put yourself in danger like that.”

Master Bruce swallowed thickly and shook his head frantically. “I won’t. P-promise.”

“Good.” Alfred sighed and bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to show affection to the child, the little bit of care that tended to have Master Bruce look at him in his childlike wonder. He held himself back, he didn’t want either of them to get attached. 

But… perhaps as it was the Christmas season. 

Tentatively, Alfred lifted a hand. Master Bruce watched it carefully. The man brought it to the boy’s forehead, his skin somewhat warmer now. He ran his nails through Master Bruce's hair, scratching his scalp lightly. 

The swollen, red eyes flickered, blinking suddenly sleepily. 

In the tender moment, Alfred hummed. “I have discarded your costume.”

The sleepy eyes widened, now attentive. “What?”

“It was making you reckless. I need you to be safe. You’re much too old for things like that.” Alfred said softly. 

Master Bruce only stared at him, not yet understanding. 

“Bruce,” he said, dropping the formality. It appeared to be effective as the child blinked. “I can’t lose you. I can’t bury you.”

The lad blinked a few more times before nodding solemnly. “I won’t play like that anymore.”

Finally, all of Alfred’s fear flew away. They would be okay. “I will see you tomorrow, my child. Rest for now.” He promised, running his hand once more through his curls. 

Master Bruce did not say anything more and Alfred assumed he must’ve been falling asleep. Turning on his nightlight, Alfred left him be. Trying to convince himself that the tightness in his chest was not paternal love. 

🦇

“Good afternoon, Master Bruce.” Alfred greeted as the boy slid into the backseat. “How was school?”

“Fine.” He mumbled, glaring out the tinted window. 

Alfred started the car, joining the traffic in the road. “Good heavens, say no more.” He teased. “Fine? Fine? We need to alert the president.”

Through the rearview mirror he caught the eleven year old’s lip twitch in a smile before Master Bruce corrected himself, sitting straight. “Quit it.”

“However can I? Your day was ‘fine’! We should put up a banner. Shall I arrange a cake?”

Master Bruce coughed, trying to catch his laugh. “Alright, it was a good day. Okay?”

Alfred chuckled. “I’m glad it was, Master Bruce. Did you enjoy your lunch?”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed tiredly. 

“Good.” Alfred smiled fondly. “Rest up, Master Bruce. Enjoy a nap. You have the upcoming weekend to recover.”

“Mmhmm.”

The weekend passed with no commotion. Master Bruce was in a regular mood, nothing interesting to note. It was the usual pace that Alfred had come to cherish in his role as a guardian. Doing his little household duties but also minding the boy, waking him up; preparing food to his liking; laundering his clothes and overthinking his birthday for next month. There was never any rest, but Alfred so enjoyed the feeling of laying in bed after a full accomplished day. 

Monday came along, another typical school day, and Alfred had just returned from the grocery store when he heard the landline ringing. 

Dumping the brown bags down, he cleared his throat and lifted the phone. “Wayne Residence, this is Alfred Pennyworth speaking. How may I be of assistance?”

“Hello, Mr Pennyworth, it’s Bruce’s English teacher. We met earlier at the start of the school year?”

Alfred steeled himself. School calls never went well. It always had him ending with him retrieving Master Bruce from school. A bruise or two painting the child’s skin from some fight. It always raised an argument between them, Master Bruce’s gloomy manner returning full force no matter what. The child could never control himself when his peers teased him. He needed to learn he could not punch his way through life. 

“Miss Miller, I remember. Has something occurred?”

“Bruce‘s class had an assignment that was due last Friday, an essay to include descriptive adjectives and adverbs, so I have a baseline of all the children’s understanding. Unfortunately, Bruce failed to provide any material. He hadn’t even started his essay.”

“Oh?” Alfred frowned. “He never mentioned this.”

“That’s troublesome,” Miss Miller agreed. “I gave him the benefit of the doubt and extended his deadline to this Monday. But it appears he thinks that his schoolwork is optional.”

Alfred was unable to keep the flush of embarrassment off his face. “I apologise, Miss. I had no idea.”

“Perhaps you should try to take more responsibility in making sure that Bruce manages his homework? I know you’re not his parent but you have taken a guardianship role, right?”

The flush intensified. He could almost picture Thomas in the corner, Martha on her favourite armchair. Both of them leading upon him in disappointment. Realising who they left their treasured son with. “I will make sure the assignment is completed.”

“Is by the end of this week satisfactory?”

“Indeed.” Alfred said, trying to make himself appear less irresponsible. “I apologise once more.”

“Children tend to slip from our grasps at times. They just need to be reminded of who is really in charge. Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Pennyworth.”

“And you M—” she had hung up. 

Alfred set the phone down, trying to calm away his embarrassment. How could Master Bruce have done this? Does he not realise how degrading it was to be spoken to like that? All for some adjectives?

Something would need to be done. 

That afternoon, Alfred picked Master Bruce up. He remained quiet. Not trusting himself to speak. 

He noticed Master Bruce’s gaze flicking over to him throughout the drive, not offering any words himself. 

When they arrived home, Master Bruce collected his bag from the car and followed Alfred into the kitchen. This was about the time Alfred would provide him with a snack before dinner. 

And on the table was Master Bruce’s snack. A plate with celery and peanut butter. But next to it was also a pencil and lined paper.  

Master Bruce sat on his chair uncertainly, watching the butler as he glanced at the blank page. 

“Miss Miller phoned,” Alfred revealed and immediately Master Bruce tensed up. “Do you know why?”

Master Bruce squirmed uncomfortably. “I already told her I’d do the essay, I just didn’t want to do the one she gave.”

“Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was?” Alfred scolded. “My ward looking like an irresponsible fool and who else’s fault would it be other than mine?”

“It has nothing to do with you!” Master Bruce argued. 

“Do you not know how the world works yet? It has everything to do with me! How you act outside of these Manor’s walls reflects on the man raising you.” 

“It’s a stupid essay!”

Alfred felt himself go cold. His scowl stern. “Do not use that language.” He turned around. “Eat your food and make a start on your assignment. I want to see at least a paragraph before you get out of your seat.”

What if others heard Master Bruce using bad language outside? Would they blame Alfred? Would they remove Master Bruce from his care? Claim he wasn’t a fit guardian?

The sound of a plate being pushed away reached Alfred’s ears. 

“I won’t do the stupid essay and I don’t want your stupid food!”

Alfred whirled around, his glare wide and angry. 

He had the sudden urge to correct the child. The need to shout and lose himself to get his point across. 

But then Master Bruce flinched away from his stare alone, and Alfred remembered himself. 

He took a breath to steady himself. He could never hurt this brilliant child. 

But he had to fix this somehow. He could not deal with another phone call. 

So he came forward and picked up the plate. “Very well.” He said to the child that was leaning away from him as far as possible. Expecting something else. “If you do not want my food, then you shall not have any until I see at least one paragraph.” He informed and stepped away. 

Hunger was a stern teacher. It was better that Master Bruce learned respect and discipline with him, rather than in the cruel outside world where failure meant more than a few tears. 

There was the sound of the chair legs scraping the tiles and then young feet running away. But Alfred ignored it, tossing the celery in the bin. 

As the night approached, Alfred heard uncertain steps make their way to the dining room and stop at the doorway. 

From where he was sitting in another room, Alfred turned the page of his book, not really taking in the words. 

He listened as the footsteps turned away, heavier, and went back to the bedrooms. 

Alfred wasn’t a liar. The dining table was bare. 

That morning, Master Bruce once more peeked into the dining room to find an empty table. 

Solemnly, he slid into the car, ready for school. 

Alfred reached his arm out, a few dollars in his hand. “Money for your lunch.” 

Cautiously, Master Bruce took the lunch money. “I thought…”

“I remember saying that I would not give you food. You may provide yourself with some.” Alfred turned the car on. He wasn’t a villain. He also could not have teachers questioning his guardianship if Master Bruce had no lunch for the first time. 

When the end of the school day came, Alfred waited for Master Bruce to join him in the car. 

The boy’s face was upset, his lips tilted down. 

Alfred ignored this, knowing full well this was the consequences of Master Bruce’s own actions. Saying nothing, Alfred drove them home as Master Bruce made himself comfy against the car door. 

They were nearly home when a very loud sound echoed in the vehicle. 

Alfred glanced at Master Bruce through the rearview mirror, watching the child blush as he made a ball of himself in embarrassment, his hands clutching his loud stomach. 

“Did you not have your lunch?” Alfred asked worriedly. 

Master Bruce turned more red, time stretching before he finally answered. “The other kids laughed when I joined the school lunch line.”

“So you did not eat?”

“I told the teacher I needed the bathroom.” He whispered. 

Alfred sighed, upset that Master Bruce had chosen to let the taunts get to him and hide in the bathroom stalls. “In that case, you better finish that first paragraph so that you can have some food. It’s been over twenty-four hours now since you last ate.”

Master Bruce said nothing. And when they arrived back at the Manor, he went straight to his bedroom, the blank paper still on the kitchen table. 

Silly stubborn boy. 

It was late. Alfie would definitely be asleep by now. Still, Bruce slipped on some socks. Not taking any chances. 

He tiptoed out of his room, holding his breath when he got close to Alfie’s bedroom. Bruce carefully went downstairs, grateful that the Manor had tiled stairs that wouldn’t creak. 

He knew he was being bad. He knew he would get in so much trouble if Alfie ever found out. But he couldn’t help but be bad. He drank lots of water but even then his stomach felt like it was caving in like… like the thing that the astronomer guy had just named… oh, a black hole! Space was super cool, especially the whole Cygnus X-1 deal that was all over the news. One day, Bruce would see a black hole in real—

A painful grumble ripped itself out from Bruce’s stomach and he bit his lip, hoping Alfie didn’t suddenly jump out of a corner from how loud it was. 

He knew he was bad. But he was so hungry. 

And he didn’t wanna write that essay. 

Alfie wouldn’t notice if a little bit had gone missing. Just a few biscuits. Bruce knew he was being bad. He was a thief. A criminal that Zorro would beat up. But maybe Zorro would understand…

Finally in the kitchen, Bruce made his way to the pantry where he knew Alfie stored the plain biscuits. He’d never realise those were missing. Bruce slowly, quietly, went to open the door. 

But it didn’t open. 

He tried to jiggle the handle one more time. 

His heart fell. 

Alfie had locked the food away. 

Bruce caught the whimper in his throat, clicking his jaw shut. Making sure not a single sound fell out of his mouth. Frantically, he rubbed away the tears from his eyes. Alfie couldn’t know that he cried. 

He looked over to the blank page on the table and bit his lip painfully. 

He didn’t want to write about it. 

Alfred frowned in concern when he noted the paper still had nothing on it. He shook his head and went to collect his jacket. Master Bruce came down the stairs, school bag in hand. Eyes red and swollen. The poor lad must be having trouble sleeping. Maybe nightmares again.  

Something tugged in his heart, it would be forty-eight hours this afternoon with no food. It hurt Alfred when Bruce was upset. He knew a little hunger was not about to kill anyone, but the boy was dragging his feet. 

Maybe… a little bit of toast would suffice. 

“Master Bruce,” Alfred sighed. 

The child kept walking towards the garage, acting as though Alfred hadn’t spoken. 

He cleared his throat pointedly, “Master Bruce.”

But Master Bruce kept walking, a scowl on his face.

With large steps, Alfred reached the child, grabbing him by the shoulder. “You will answer when I speak to you.”

Master Bruce pulled away, scowl hardening. 

“I said—”

“Why do you get to ignore me when you’re mad and I can’t?” The boy snapped. 

Alfred’s jaw dropped at the blatant disrespect. “I am the adult. You are the child. We are not friends. Do not speak to me in such a manner.”

“Then let me not speak.” Master Bruce frowned. 

“Enough of this attitude. To think I was going to forgive your earlier behaviour!”

“I don’t want your crappy forgiveness!”

Immediately, Master Bruce’s lips shut tight. As if realising his mistake. 

Alfred took a breath. And another. He put his hand in his pocket. Unsure what he would do with it otherwise. 

“Car. Now.”

The child ran off. 

Master Bruce needed to learn. Evidently, Alfred couldn’t give in. Not just yet. 

It was Alfred’s own fault that Master Bruce had developed such a bad attitude. Surely, children never behaved like this with their adults. So undignified and rude. Alfred couldn’t believe the words Master Bruce had used. Alfred would never have sworn even the most innocent curse word in front of his own father. He’d be whacked straight across the mouth before he could finish it. 

Though of course, the day Alfred raised a hand on Master Bruce would never come. Never would he harm his this child. 

But he knew, once Master Bruce flopped into the car that afternoon, limbs hanging clumsily, that the boy had not bought himself any lunch again. 

With a tut Alfred drove home in silence, occasionally glancing at the lad who had closed his eyes, skin slightly grey. 

When they reached home, Alfred had to wake Master Bruce up, closing his car door shut with a bang. It jolted the young Master up who blinked around in confusion as he gathered his bearings. 

Once he climbed out of the car, Alfred withheld a groan of frustration and laid a hand on the child’s shoulder, leading him back to the kitchen and the table with the blank page. 

“Begin.” Alfred ordered. “This is not negotiable.”

Master Bruce sat down gracelessly, picking up the pencil and staring at the paper. His hand was shaky from fatigue. Alfred turned around, grabbing a small saucepan and setting it on the stove, pouring in some milk and oats. 

When the mixture was ready, Alfred turned, Master Bruce’s pencil was on the lined paper, but he still hadn’t written a single letter. 

“Now.” Alfred demanded, word harsher than he had anticipated. 

Master Bruce’s shoulders rose up to his ears in a startle. 

Alfred shook his head and poured the contents into a bowl, plopping in a spoon and putting it down next to Master Bruce’s paper. 

Master Bruce’s gaze went to the bowl and Alfred watched as his nose crinkled. 

“I don’t like porridge.” He admitted.

“I know,” Alfred said, recalling the one time Master Bruce had consumed the same porridge once when he was sick and proceeded to vomit it out. “But if you were truly hungry, then that wouldn’t stop you.”

Master Bruce’s lower lip quivered for a moment and he bit his teeth, ducking his chin to his chest. 

“Write.” Alfred said. 

There was a moment before Master Bruce sniffed. Glancing up at the page with a hiccup. 

Finally, finally, the boy started to write. 

All it took was two days of keeping away food, and the child was remembering his good behaviour. 

Alfred sighed in relief, turning away to clean the dishes used to make the porridge. 

“Done,” Master Bruce's small voice revealed in a whisper. “I wrote a paragraph.”

Alfred checked over his shoulder, seeing that Master Bruce had indeed written a few lines of an introduction, his handwriting a little clumsy. 

“Well done, dear lad.” Alfred said just as softly. “I knew you were capable.”

He continued with the dishes, washing away the suds. 

“I… I wrote a paragraph.” Master Bruce repeated. “Can I please eat something?”

“You have your porridge.” Alfred reminded him, keeping his back to the boy. 

“But… I can’t eat that.”

Alfred shrugged, “if you were actually hungry, you would eat anything.”

“Alfred… I can’t. I really can’t.”

Minutes passed until Alfred heard the chair pushed back and Master Bruce retreating away. Alfred checked, drying off the pans, the bowl of porridge had remained untouched. 

No, there was only so much Alfred could give in. 

Hours passed and Alfred hadn’t even eaten his own meal, heart heavy over the fact that his ward was still hungry. But this time it was for no reason other than his own stubbornness. One could not survive on this earth being picky, no matter how much money they may have. 

It was past dinner time when Alfred heard dragged footsteps coming into the kitchen. He was sitting on the table writing a new grocery list for tomorrow’s shopping when Master Bruce walked inside. 

Wordlessly, Master Bruce pulled himself up on the chair and slumped, staring at the now cold porridge in front of him. Alfred said nothing, only reaching forward to take a scoop of porridge into the spoon and offer it to Master Bruce for him to take. 

Master Bruce accepted the spoon, his hand trembling with it, and stared at the glob of oats. 

Alfred watched as the eleven year old took a deep breath in and the food finally touched his lips. The butler kept in the sigh of relief, instead watching Master Bruce nibble at the edge of the spoon, eating a tiny bit of the porridge.

Before suddenly dropping the spoon back into the bowl with a loud clang, both hands coming to his mouth in an attempt to hold in a violent gag. 

Alfred tsked loudly, getting up to fetch a glass of water. “It is only porridge, Master Bruce. A fine nutritious dish. There is no need for such dramatics.” He set the water down, Master Bruce drinking it immediately. “A man is not choosy.”

Master Bruce’s face was red and his skin had a sheen of sweat. With bloodshot eyes, the child picked up the food again, and this time shoved the entire thing in his mouth. 

Alfred sat back and watched as Master Bruce shoved in spoon after spoon, as if trying to avoid tasting it. The thick porridge went down heavily, Master Bruce’s gags also delaying him from eating it quickly. Alfred had seen soldiers choke down worse rations without any theatrics. 

For once, Alfred made no comment to the tears sliding down Master Bruce’s stuffed cheeks. Excusing it as sweat for the child’s own dignity. 

All that effort and Master Bruce had only managed half the small bowl, the child pushing it away even though there was no chance he could be full. 

“Very well done, Master Bruce.” Alfred praised gently. 

The child breathed heavily, his hand grabbing the piece of paper and pencil, crinkling it as he did so. “Can I write the rest up in my room?”

Alfred smiled. “You may.”

That was all the permission he needed to scurry off. Alfred huffed an endeared chuckle. He was a sweet boy, silly but sweet. 

Alfred prepared Master Bruce’s favourite for breakfast. Eggs sunny-side up; a hot, juicy sausage and lightly toasted bread with a side of orange juice. 

The man smiled at the brightness on Master Bruce’s face when the child saw the dining table finally had a meal on it once again. 

The boy rushed over, dropping his school bag. “Thank you, Alfred!” He said and picked up his fork. 

“You’re very welcome, Master Bruce.” Alfred said, holding back from showing as much affection as he wanted to. 

He left to grab the car keys and his jacket instead. When he returned, Master Bruce was scarfing down the breakfast, barely leaving any room for breathing. 

Concerned, Alfred picked up Master Bruce’s plate and pulled it away.

The child froze, wide eyes looking up at Alfred, fork suspended in midair. 

“Slowly, Master Bruce.” Alfred reminded him, exasperated. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

He gave the plate back. With a small shake in his hand, Master Bruce continued eating. This time at a reasonable pace. Although his other hand had come up and was holding the plate rather tightly.

“I took the liberty of storing your lunch in your school bag. Have you written more of your essay?”

Master Bruce nodded frantically. 

“Good,” Alfred once again tried not to show too much affection, instead he fixed Master Bruce’s collar unnecessarily. “I’ll meet you in the car, lad.”

Master Bruce nodded again, shoving more toast in his mouth like he would never eat again. Alfred rolled his eyes at the dramatics. 

Master Bruce came to sit on the kitchen table, his after-school snack of celery and peanut butter ready for him. 

“Your last evening before your assignment is due.” Alfred reminded him. “Will it be completed?”

Master Bruce nodded fervently, taking a bite of his food. 

Alfred came up next to him, taking his fingers through Master Bruce’s hair to set it down again, his hair gel losing control after a long day. “About your choice of words this week, is there anything you would like to say to me?”

Master Bruce, chewed on his bite, his other hand coming to grip onto the plate of celery sticks protectively. He swallowed and his chin ducked down. “I’m sorry for swearing at you, Alfred.”

Alfred smiled. “Quite alright, child. Don’t do it again.”

Master Bruce came down the stairs, his school bag dragging behind him, eyes heavy. 

“Did you not have a good sleep, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked. 

Master Bruce shook his head. “But I finished my essay.”

Alfred refrained from making any comments on how it was technically a week late. That was not something a guardian should do. 

Later in the day, once Alfred was back after dropping Master Bruce and was vacuuming the carpets, the phone rang. 

Tension filling his veins, Alfred swallowed thickly and turned the machine off, he had a sinking feeling of who it may be. Darn it, he should have checked to make sure Master Bruce had actually finished his essay. But it wasn’t like the child to lie. 

The phone rang again and Alfred cleared his throat before he answered. 

“Wayne Residence, this is Alfred Pennyworth speaking. How may I be of assistance?”

“Mr Pennyworth, it’s Miss Miller from Bruce’s English class.”

A heavy weight built in his gut. To be judged based on his ability as a guardian twice by the same person made him feel rather dizzy. He grabbed onto the edge of the table and took a breath. “Miss Miller, did Master Bruce not complete his assignment? He ensured—”

“Oh no, he did.” She cut him off. 

Alfred paused. “He did?” Then what on earth was she calling him for?

“I just knew I wouldn’t get a chance to catch you after school so I wanted to give you a call. Bruce’s essay was astounding. Such talent in his descriptions. The adjectives and adverbs of the scenes really made the reader feel as though they were stepping into the page.”

“Oh,” a tidal wave of pride crashed into Alfred, tumbling away that earlier anxious weight. “I see.”

“He insisted that he hadn’t wanted to write it but that you were able to persuade him. I acknowledge that this time last week I may have been rude to you and I wanted to apologise if I might have offended you.”

“Ah, Miss Miller, not at all.” Alfred said. “It honestly showed me a gap in my own teaching. I never want Master Bruce to fall behind. I am glad the essay was satisfactory.”

“It was, didn’t you read it?” Her tone curious. 

With a start, Alfred slowly came to the realisation that he never asked what the title of the essay was, he only knew that it had to include some specific grammar tools. “I’m afraid I had to admit that I did not. What was the inspiration of the essay?”

“Well, with Halloween coming up, the title was ‘My Scariest Day.’ Bruce did a brilliant job. It sounds like something straight out of a horror movie.”

The wave of pride drifted away, replaced now with a numb blanket. Memories of Master Bruce declaring he wouldn’t touch the essay, that he would do any other title. “Was it?” He heard himself ask in the distance. “I’m happy to hear he completed it.”

“Yes, well I have to be going. Have a nice rest of your day. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you’re doing a good job, Mr Pennyworth. Take care.”

The line went dead before Alfred could think of a reply. Dazed, he put the landline down, staring at the back of his hand. Mechanically, he picked the vacuum back up, turning it on. 

It’s not as though he would’ve made Master Bruce write such a story if he had just shared the title. If he opened up to Alfred and had told him, maybe Alfred would have had a conversation with his teacher. 

But no, that could not be done. Master Bruce needed to learn that he had to face his fears. Alfred wouldn’t be around forever, fighting his battles. He needed to make sure he molded Master Bruce into the strong man he was slowly becoming. And look where this challenging week had gotten them, a personal phone call from the school to praise the child. 

Master Bruce needed this. With time and grit, they’d get him there. 

Thomas and Martha wouldn’t have accepted anything less. 

🦇

When the newspapers arrived, Alfred threw them out. 

In no way was he about to entertain such headlines. Questions wondering where the Wayne Heir was hiding. Why he hadn’t been seen in any socialising events. As though he was not a child. 

Apologies - a teenager. 

Any implication that Master Bruce was a child ended up in an annoyed huff and a hormonal “I’m fourteen now! I’m an adult in four years!”

Teenager or child, Alfred did not wish for Master Bruce to thrust himself into the fanatical galas. With drinks and dancing and more, no matter how civilised the attendants were. 

“You are in need of a haircut.”

Master Bruce looked up, limp hair falling in front of his eyes. “No, I don’t.”

“Hm,” Alfred set the iced tea on the side, getting comfortable on the picnic blanket. “What are you reading now?”

Another new book was in Master Bruce’s hands. “It’s from the public library.”

Alfred frowned, trying to remember. “Is it about those Chinese monks, again?”

“Tibetan monks, yeah.” Master Bruce corrected, turning a page. 

Alfred waved a hand. “It is all the same to me. I do not understand why you have taken such a keen interest in them.”

“Maybe one day, I’ll go find them and become a monk,” he chirped, smiling because he knew how much the notion would bother Alfred. 

Predictably, Alfred tsked and ruffled Master Bruce’s flat hair, “at the very least then your hair will be cut off.”

Master Bruce pulled away with a little ‘hey!’ Swatting Alfred’s hand away and trying to hide away his smile. 

More newspapers, more rubbish.

“Alfred?” Master Bruce called for him, wandering down the stairs.

“Yes, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked, straightening up from where he was polishing the banister. The teenager’s nose crinkled at the sharp smell. 

“I don’t have any suits that fit me anymore.” He pointed out, scrutinising the polish bottle, picking it up to read the ingredients. The child was so unusually interested in chemicals these days. Very useful for his upcoming medical career. 

“I suppose not,” Alfred thought hard, the last time Master Bruce had worn a suit was nearly a year ago at a photoshoot. Alfred insisted on one annually, just as the Waynes had. “May I ask why the sudden interest?”

Master Bruce started to fidget with the polisher, frowning at it. “I was thinking about turning up to the new art gallery’s ceremonial opening this weekend.” 

Alfred blinked, setting down the cloth on the step and walking up the stairs that separated the two of them. Getting closer, Alfred sat down on the step, letting Master Bruce hover above him. “Who did you speak to?”

“Nobody!” Master Bruce defended automatically and then ducked his head, picking the bottle label with his nail. “A few of the mothers who were volunteering at school said it was about time to show my face.”

He did not like it, the child was still a child. Alfred had seen the way the paparazzi and the businesses hounded Thomas. The way the man had two faces, one for the cameras and the real, exhausted one for the family wing. And Thomas was a grown man with a career. Master Bruce was only a little boy. 

No; not a boy. Master Bruce was shifting, growing into a young adult. Sprouting up in height and having to get rid of old clothes. Collecting more and more books ranging from Sherlock Holmes to Greek Mythology. Old enough to make his own ideas. About the same age Alfred’s grandfather was when he opted to lie his way into the Great War. 

“And is this something you are certain you want to do? Reveal yourself to the public?” He wanted to make sure. “Once we start there is no taking it back. The upper classes are not kind.”

“I know that,” Master Bruce said, stubborn as always. “I just wanna… ease into it. Just do all the art gallery stuff this year and then see what happens next year. I don’t even know anyone I’m supposedly doing business with.”

Alfred tried to hide his smile. “That is because it is not you who is doing business with them. It is the Wayne Enterprises board.”

“It’s my money.” He stated and then frowned, looking at Alfred in a question. “Right?”

“Right.” Alfred said. “It sounds as though you have made up your mind.”

“Just this art stuff.”

“That would be attending the opening ceremony, correct. But that would also mean one or two galas.”

Master Bruce’s brows rose up, “I remember those. I remember…”

Alfred smiled warmly, holding back from laying a hand on Master Bruce’s shoulder, from comforting the boy like he wanted to. “You remember sticking to your mother’s side, yes? Your hand would never leave her dress.”

The young boy scowled, bending down to place the bottle back on the step. “So the suit?” He changed the subject. 

Alfred allowed it. “I will remeasure you and send for a suit this afternoon. Will that be all, Sir?”

“Hm.” Master Bruce said, turning and climbing back up the stairs. Acting older than he was. An obvious act that anyone with eyes could see. Alfred would let it be; he was only here to guide the boy, not tell him what to do. 

If the child chose to face the world, Alfred could only watch. 

They were both sat across from each other on the dining table, eating their meals. It was one of the blurred lines Alfred would cross, finding that the best time to gain any attention from the teenager was during dinner, despite how unprofessional this was. 

“I asked for a suit.” Master Bruce said. “One suit. Why are there four?”

“You are Bruce Wayne, Sir.” Alfred reminded him. “Never can you be seen wearing the same clothes twice. If you intend on attending more than one event then we must be prepared.”

Master Bruce made a face. “That sounds excessive.”

“You are a billionaire, what you do within the comfort of your home is your choice, you may rewear that preposterous sweater as much as you want—”

“Hey!”

“But in public you must act the part.” Alfred said. “Now,” he wiped his lips with his napkin and set his dishes to the side, bringing the notebook back out. Master Bruce straightened to attention. “The Mayor will be cutting the ribbon. Beside him will be…”

“Louise Hampton, owner of the gallery.” Master Bruce answered correctly. “The curators there are also of importance, Madeleine Carroll and Gunther Wagner.”

“Yes, the German.” Alfred noted in slight displeasure. 

Master Bruce, as usual, ignored him with an eye roll. “Madeleine is married to Phillip Carroll, he bought the job position for her. But I’m not allowed to say that because it’s rude.”

“Yes. Any other guest of importance?”

“A lot of the board members for WE will be there. Like Jefferey, Williams, Marshall and Wood. There is talk that Uncle Ca— Falcone might also be there.” Master Bruce quickly corrected, a dust of a blush on his cheeks. “There will also be Robertson and Campbell who sponsored the gallery. And the police and… and will Officer Gordon be there?” 

Alfred blinked at the abrupt question. “Jim Gordon? I am not sure. Why the interest?”

“Oh, no reason.” Master Bruce said and picked at the remainder of his food. “Everyone’s families will be there too. It’s a family friendly event considering it’s in the afternoon. There will be spouses and children.”

“Very well done, Master Bruce.” Alfred went through the list. “It seems you have recalled everyone of importance and I am sure you will recognise anyone we have yet to mention.” He tapped his pencil on the paper. “What do you do when someone strikes up a conversation? Asks how you are, where you have been?”

“Direct the questioning back to them. Make them the talker.”

“Yes,” Alfred nodded. “You will still be the youngest person there of importance. People will respect that.”

“Right,” Master Bruce said, his face falling. 

“Is anything the matter?” Alfred pressed. “Do you still wish to attend?”

“Well, yeah.” Master Bruce said, shrugging a shoulder. “Everyone’s been talking about it.”

“Ah,” Alfred nodded. “You have read the news?”

“There were newspapers in the public library. I know you throw ours away when you don’t want me to see something.”

Alfred sighed, fond. “You are indeed a silly boy, Sir.” He pushed his chair back, getting up. “Finish your dinner. Even teenagers need nutrition to grow.”

With another roll of his eyes, Master Bruce took a bite, looking much younger than Alfred was comfortable with. 

The young sir had needed assistance in getting ready. Alfred was more than willing to help, setting his suit so it laid crisp and reminding him to clip his nails. 

“Maybe I should shave.”

“That would require having hair, Sir.”

Despite Master Bruce being more than capable of it, Alfred knelt down, tying his shoes up. No chances of tripping and accidents that would haunt the boy for generations. 

“Cufflinks are dumb.”

“Cufflinks are sophisticated.”

Alfred combed and gelled down his hair, laying it down in a more chic manner than Master Bruce did for his prep school. 

“There’s more gel than hair.”

“You must look the part.”

Stepping back, Alfred tapered down his aching heart, holding in a sigh at how grown up the child looked. He’d known Master Bruce since before he was even born. And now, here the same child was, resembling his father more than himself. 

“There,” Alfred nodded, eyes wrinkling, “a perfect suit of armour.”

Master Bruce looked at himself in the mirror, reaching a hand up to his hair. Alfred batted it away before Master Bruce managed to ruffle it up. “Armour is not supposed to be comfortable.”

“Seems extreme.” Master Bruce grumbled. 

“You are a Wayne.” Alfred reminded him again. “You must be extreme.”

They gathered into a nicer car, more exquisite than their usual vehicle. Alfred made sure to straighten out his own suit, ensuring his gloves were on and his hat that was rarely ever worn these days was secure. 

“You’re not wearing a new suit.” Master Bruce realised. 

“Yes,” Alfred said, starting the car. “I am just your butler, young boy. I am of a different status. My clothes will reflect as such.”

Master Bruce sat back, the usual frown appearing. The boy would grow with wrinkles. “I don’t like that. You’re my butler. Can’t I have it so you also have to dress up?”

“One child’s opinion will not change how classism has worked over the centuries.” Alfred said. “Perhaps if you desire such progressive movement, you should build yourself into a man who can do so.”

Predictably, Master Bruce grumbled about being called the child he was. 

No, not a child, not really. He was a man. A young man. Once this afternoon was finished, the world would have set their eyes on him. 

Alfred was sure that the teen knew what he was walking into. He wasn’t daft. 

As they approached the gallery, Alfred had to slow down the car. Going through the security checks and driving where he was guided. Cameras flashing bright despite the afternoon Sun. Reporters screeching and people pushing against the barriers to get a glimpse of any celebrity that happened to walk by. 

“There’s a lot of people.”

Alfred glanced back through the rearview mirror. The voice was not like Master Bruce’s. This one was smaller. Shakier. 

“Why, yes.” Alfred raised a brow. “What else did you expect?”

“I don’t… there’s a lot.” He said again, shrinking down his seat, looking out the tinted windows. 

Something in Alfred was blaring at him. An alarm that was urging him to just turn the car around. Rush Master Bruce back to the safety of the Manor walls. 

But then the child would learn. He would think he could pout and the world would kneel to him, fulfilling his every demand. Alfred had to teach him. The child should have realised what he was signing up for. He was a bright boy, he should have anticipated this. 

“Do you not recall your previous events? Don’t bite your lip.” Alfred asked as nicely as possible. 

The young Master was quiet. Then he said, “that was years ago.”

Yes, an eight year old hiding behind his mother’s legs. But Alfred had assumed that Master Bruce would still remember the people and lights. He was usually so clever. 

“Maybe,” Master Bruce winced at a camera flash. “Maybe we should have a code?”

“A code?” Alfred asked as he parked.

“Yeah, like… like in movies. I’ll say something like ‘it’s colder than usual’ to you and then we leave.” Master Bruce suggested. 

Alfred tried not to show his irritation at the childish idea at this very mature function. “The real world, Master Bruce, is not like the movies. There will be no codes to save us just because we are a little uncomfortable.”

He watched Master Bruce tense, hands coming to grip the seatbelt like it could protect him. 

“Pull yourself together,” Alfred rushed. They had sat inside for too long. “It is time to show ourselves. Remember your training. Who is who. Smile and listen to others.”

Master Bruce straightened up, just a little bit, but enough. 

“Come, wait for me to open your door. Undo your seatbelt.”

Alfred opened the driver door. Immediately flooded with a wave of flashes and bright lights, people huddling around the car to see which celebrity was going to step out. He rounded the car, slow as possible to give Master Bruce longer time to prepare himself. He knew his ward was watching through the window. He put a hand on the handle and the other behind his own back professionally. Then with a stiff lip, he opened the door.

A second passed and Alfred’s anxiety shot up in fear that Master Bruce was about to embarrass himself, but then the brave soldier stepped out of the car. His smile weak and wavy, but present. 

“Is that a kid?”

“Is that Bruce Wayne?”

“Fuck off.”

“No, it is!”

“Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne, over here!”

“Mr. Wayne, give us a smile!”

“Bruce Wayne! Look at the camera!”

“Bruce!”

“Mr. Wayne!”

Alfred felt the smaller body shift closer to him, as though it was acceptable to come so near to the butler. 

In his professionalism, Alfred stepped away subtly. He could not lay a hand on his employer. 

Thankfully, a security guard broke through the crowd. “Right this way, Mr. Wayne.”

Waiting a few steps, watching the boy’s robotic steps. Alfred followed through, the barbaric screams washing over him as he folded his hands behind his back. He could only watch. And even that was overstepping the invisible boundaries. 

Master Bruce turned his head, looking over his shoulder and Alfred made eye contact. Trying to reassure his ward. Finally, they made it inside the gallery. Fragments of red ribbon on the ground showing that they were fashionably late enough to have missed the main event. But this was good for Master Bruce’s first time, he could linger; socialise, and then Alfred could take him away back to the Manor. Away from all these stares and cameras. 

As soon as they were inside and away from the paparazzi, the noises died down slightly. Not entirely, there was still chatter and laughter. A small smell of nauseating sweetness from the alcoholic beverages. Sophisticated champagne to suit the afternoon hour. 

“I can’t believe my eyes,” a tittering voice came over. “Bruce Wayne? You must be him.”

Never before had Alfred seen such a mask on Master Bruce. His eyes dimmed but smile polite. It was disturbing. It was perfect for him. 

“I am,” he took the older lady’s hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Wood.”

“What a gentleman,” she cooed. “Stanley, Stanley come see! It’s Bruce Wayne. Martha’s boy?”

Her husband joined, his hand on her lower back as he assessed Master Bruce. “Of course. A splitting image of Thomas, isn’t he?”

Master Bruce’s shoulders stiffened and Alfred tutted to himself at the behaviour. He was aware the comment was unnecessary but Master Bruce should have better control around vultures less they take advantage. 

“Isn’t he just?” Mrs Wood said adoringly. 

“So, sonny. What cave did you dig yourself out of?” Mr Wood clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

Master Bruce smiled, his expression wavered. He needed to work on his composure. “I have been busy in my academics.”

“No need for that with all your inheritance.”

“Oh, Stanley, shush! Brucie is going to grow up to be a handsome doctor just like his daddy!”

‘Brucie?’ Alfred witnessed Master Bruce mouth to himself. 

Mrs Wood waved her hands, much too hyper in Alfred’s opinion. “Oh, come. Come, Brucie! I need to show you to the others. Martha’s not around to look after you, bless you, but I am. We were like sisters back in the day.” 

Once again, Master Bruce’s stance tightened at the insensitive words. But Mrs Wood had already pulled Master Bruce in a side hug, holding him close as she dragged him through a mass of socialites. 

Master Bruce turned his head with great difficulty, anxiously looking towards Alfred for help. 

And Alfred wanted to rush forward and yank his the child away from the woman’s talons. But he kept his feet firmly rooted where they were. Watching Master Bruce get lost in the crowd of much older men and women. This was the life he was born into, and it is the life he shall have. Alfred could not change it. 

Instead he stood aside with his back to a wall, hands folded and chin up as he observed. Master Bruce had been brought into a gaggle of older ladies laden in too much perfume and jewels. They all seemed to be overly familiar, all of them having known Martha, having been the same age as his mother. They pulled Master Bruce this way and that, pinching his cheeks and talking to each other about him as if he wasn’t right there. 

Time passed and Alfred kept his feet planted even when Master Bruce was passed towards the direction of WE board members, the men shaking his shoulders and laughing much too loud. Alfred felt his eye twitch as he witnessed one of them offer Master Bruce a full glass, which the fourteen year old refused. 

Master Bruce, throughout everything, kept shifting away. Eyes constantly flickering from person to person, everyone standing taller than him. Twitching away from fingers that only tightened to stop him. Shoulders rising up to his ears. His own fingers fiddling and his trimmed nails digging into his palms. 

The boy needed to learn to hide his thoughts better. 

To Alfred’s confusion, Master Bruce was walking away from the groups of people. Head down as he quickly stepped into a corner. Hiding in a dark shadow. 

Tutting, Alfred moved from his spot for the first time since he arrived. Briskly walking to join his ward. 

Master Bruce was behind a pillar, hidden from peering eyes. He was hunched over, arms wrapped around his stomach and his body heaving with breaths that were far too quick. 

At first, Alfred feared he was harmed. Only to come to the conclusion that no, Master Bruce was choosing to behave dramatically once more. And whilst Alfred wanted nothing more than to whisk him away, Master Bruce could not be Thomas’ son if he could not handle a few uncomfortable moments. 

He tsked loudly, successfully catching Master Bruce’s attention. 

“Alfie,” he gasped. 

“Take a breath, Master Bruce.” Alfred reached for his handkerchief. Dabbing away Master Bruce’s sweat and hoping no one noticed them. “You cannot behave this way where people can see you.”

“I can’t do it,” Master Bruce quickly told him. “I want to go home. I’m done.”

“Do you realise what the newspaper headlines will be tomorrow?” Alfred whispered, checking to make sure no one saw them. “They will be making a mockery of you. Teasing you for running away. You are already at a disadvantage for being the youngest and newest attendant. The paparazzi will ruin you if they catch you breathless.”

Master Bruce straightened, but his hands twisted together rather painfully. “Please. Alfred. Get me out.”

He wanted to. Lord, he wanted to. But he knew what those beasts would say tomorrow. 

“If I did, your parents would be disappointed, child.” He explained gently. 

Master Bruce’s chin wobbled. 

If the boy cried, Alfred would simply give up. Everything would have been for nothing. 

“Get yourself together.” He said firmly but kindly. “You are wearing your armour. Fake a smile. Have you congratulated the owner? Mr. Hampton?”

Master Bruce shook head, biting his lip tight. 

“An oversight. Easily fixed. Go and find him, congratulate him on the opening. Then in twenty minutes, it would have been appropriately long enough for your first attendance.” Alfred took a deep breath to calm himself. “Understood?”

Master Bruce nodded. 

“Good, now go.” Alfred said and stepped back, finding a new space to hover in. 

Like the strong young man that he was, Master Bruce emerged from the shadows and walked without pause towards Louise Hampton. His chin high and back straight. Despite the little fidgeting on the cufflinks, he was doing a fine job. 

Alfred was deeply proud. 

As soon as they got back in the car, Master Bruce slipped down as far as his seatbelt allowed him. And the moment they were in the confines of the Manor, he was tugging at his tie and suit jacket, rushing off up the stairs clumsily. 

Alfred had to admit even his own body slumped in relief knowing that the afternoon was over. A shine caught his eye and he knelt down to pick up a cufflink that had fallen in Master Bruce’s haste. 

Maybe he should prepare a nice meal for tonight. That would lift their spirits. 

“I don’t want to go tomorrow,” Master Bruce whispered when Alfred came to wish him goodnight. 

“You will feel much better in the morning.” Alfred reassured him, turning on the lamp. The child was getting too old for it, but Alfred supposed no one would know. “The gala is not until the evening. Then one more event and the art gallery celebrations are over.”

“But…” Master Bruce shook his head. “Okay, Alfred.”

“Good,” Alfred said and placed a gloved hand on Master Bruce’s forehead. “Rest. Tomorrow is a new day.”

Master Bruce was stiff this time round. Alfred tied around the silk tie, ensuring that every inch of Master Bruce’s suit was pristine. 

“You now know what to expect.” Alfred comforted. “That puts you in a better position than yesterday.”

Master Bruce was quiet. Stiff with a prominent pout on his face. 

“They weren’t nice.” He said quietly. 

“No,” Alfred agreed, adjusting Master Bruce’s suit. “They were not. And they never will be.”

“Why not?”

“They’re your competitors.” Alfred explained. “Or your allies. Either way, their only aim is to get close to you to use you. Therefore, your only aim is to get close enough so that once you are an adult, you have enough ammunition to use against them.”

Master Bruce’s brow furrowed. “That sounds mean.”

Alfred huffed a sigh. He knew his next words would come back to bite him. “Think of it as… a spy mission.”

Master Bruce’s eyes widened, not having expected such silliness from Alfred. In fact, Alfred himself was trying not to wince at the fantasy. “Think of it as though you need to gather information. Do what it takes so that one day you may one up them.”

Master Bruce’s lip turned in amusement. “Okay.”

“Right.” Alfred stood up and collected his chauffeur hat. “It will be a slightly different lay out from yesterday as this is an evening gala. I will let you out of the car and you will walk down a carpet. On either side will be reporters and paparazzi. Do not speak to them. Head straight inside and towards wherever the help staff guide you to. Also, remember that as this is an evening event there will be more drinking and more foolishness. Do your best to ignore it.”

Alfred grabbed the keys and they began to walk to the garage. “Keep an eye on your watch, when two hours pass that is more than long enough. You may come back out to find me.”

Master Bruce’s steps faltered to a stop. “You mean, you’re not coming in?”

Alfred turned, frowning in confusion. “Of course not.”

Instantly, Master Bruce made a similar gesture as he had in the shadowed corner last afternoon. He hugged his stomach, stepping back and taking a rather exaggerated breath. “Why? You— you came in at the opening.”

“That was an afternoon event.” Alfred explained. “This is much more formal.”

“So?!”

“Calm your tone, young sir.” Alfred corrected firmly and then spoke more gently. “Work staff do not attend such ceremonies.”

Master Bruce shook his head. “I can’t do it alone. I can’t talk to all those people.”

Alfred tsked, “do not shake your head, you will loosen the gel.” Alfred crouched down, looking up at the boy. “You are a Wayne, Master Bruce. You cannot embarrass your name by going against your word. I have already sent in your reservation. What would people say?”

“Then take it back!” He cried out. 

“That is not how it works.” Alfred hesitated but then placed a firm hand on Master Bruce’s shoulder. “Inside these walls, we may be… something more, something like a friendship. But outside, you are my employer and I am your employee. You are my boss and I am just your butler. Nothing more, nothing less. Every single person will think it odd if they saw me interact with you outside of professional necessity.”

Alfred looked deeply into Master Bruce’s distressed eyes, “do you understand?”

His ward gulped, breathing ferociously fast. But he nodded. 

Thank goodness, Alfred did not want to literally drag the boy in. 

“Very good, Chum.” Alfred tried to smile reassuringly. “Let’s head on.”

“Don’t forget,” Alfred said as he pulled the car in. “You’re here to gather information, Agent Wayne.”

He swiftly got out of the car. Trying not to look too closely at the teenager attempting to blend in with the car seats. If he did, Alfred was scared he might give in and drive Master Bruce right back to the Manor. Away from the screeches and flashes and rudeness. 

Alfred opened Master Bruce’s car door. Dutifully keeping to one side as Master Bruce stepped out. 

The dark night made the camera flashes even more staggeringly bright. Alfred caught sight of Master Bruce flinching, bringing a hand up to protect his eyes. 

Alfred cleared his throat loudly, proud that Master Bruce understood and forced his hand back down. 

Master Bruce finally took the first step forward, perhaps realising that the faster he went inside, the quicker he could get away from the paparazzi and their obscene behaviour. Shoulders tense, hands clenched, eyes down to avoid the flashes.

The child was halfway there when he turned around, eyes searching, looking for Alfred. 

With his heart tight in his throat, Alfred diverted his own gaze quickly. There were too many cameras around that may capture the unprofessional gesture. 

Not only that, but if he let Master Bruce have that moment of vulnerability then the child might crack. He couldn’t let Master Bruce crack. 

When he looked back, Master Bruce was gone. Right into the battlefield. 

If Alfred believed in a higher power, he would have spent every second praying. Instead, he sat still, eyes trained on the time. Waiting for Master Bruce to return and thinking about every single thing that could go wrong. 

Maybe he should not have said two hours. Perhaps an hour would have been enough. It was a school night, after all. And there was still one more event tomorrow evening. But no, headlines were already criticising Master Bruce’s age. He had to make sure his ward seemed older than he was. 

What if Alfred was wrong? Maybe he should have followed Master Bruce inside. Let the tabloids talk. But no, the young man was capable. More than capable. He was a Wayne. He had more talent than any of those imbeciles inside. 

Two hours on the dot, Alfred caught sight of a small figure walking briskly up to the car. A little shadow amongst the heavy lights. 

Holding himself back from scrambling, Alfred got out of the car, opening up Master Bruce’s door, remaining professional in case anyone was watching.  

Once they were both sat, Alfred turned the key and immediately drove themselves away, feeling more and more relief sink in the further they got away from the venomous socialites. 

He glanced back at the boy. Master Bruce was disheveled. Sinking down in his seat. His hair was ruffled into a mess and he was biting his lip raw. Master Bruce’s fingers were trembling and he was hugging himself around his stomach as tightly as he could. 

“Well done,” Alfred said softly. “You did it, Master Bruce. Just as I knew you would. I know your parents would be so proud. If only you realised how capable you were.”

Master Bruce stayed quiet, barely reacting. 

“Or shall I say, Agent Wayne?” Alfred joked light heartedly, desperate for that look on his face to fade away. 

Still, the teenager said nothing. Any other day, Alfred would have scolded him for his rudeness. The outside world would not have put up with it. But for once, Alfred left it be. 

They were nearing Wayne Manor when Master Bruce’s voice crackled shakily. 

“I didn’t like it.”

Alfred tried not to let his heart fall further than it already had. “I am sorry you feel that way, Master Bruce. These events are rarely comfortable. I recall your own father disliking them.”

Through the rearview mirror, Alfred caught Master Bruce’s grip on himself tightening further. As though if he made himself small enough then he might disappear. Perhaps he should not have brought up his late father, considering the socialites would’ve talked about the boy’s parents as well.  

“They kept…” Master Bruce battled for his words. “They wouldn’t stop… they wouldn’t stop touching me.” He admitted in the quiet. 

Alfred took a solid breath through his nose. Determined not to react. “Oh?”

It was as though a dam had broken. “They kept— they kept touching my hair and shoulders and saying these weird things about how grown up I am and how much I look like my father and how I’m handsome. Handsome? And they kept putting their hands on my back and wouldn’t let me move away and someone insisted—” Master Bruce’s breath hitched but he soldiered on. “She pulled me onto her lap and told me off when I tried to get away and so many people laughed and called me cute but they were looking at me wrong and I… I didn’t like it.”

A pool of acidic lava filled up Alfred’s gut. The vivid imagery of his child being prodded and poked and manhandled as if he was a doll rather than a human being. Those… vultures. 

No. No, he was forgetting himself. This was exactly the kind of unprofessional feeling he was trying to avoid from the very beginning. He was the butler, nothing more. And Master Bruce had said so himself, he was a young man. He was fourteen. Men at fourteen accomplished great things once. Master Bruce was no ordinary man, he was strong. 

Would anything have been different had Alfred been in the room?

“Men?” Alfred had to ask. His voice heavy. Dangerous. 

Master Bruce paused and shook his head. 

“Women?” Alfred confirmed. 

At Master Bruce’s nod, Alfred did his best to lower his shoulders and take a breath, counting to ten. He has always been a good actor. He could manage this. He did not want to give Master Bruce the wrong idea. Manipulate him into thinking this was worse than it was. 

“So, to be clear.” Alfred said, twisting his tone to be light. “You had several women come up to you, behave in a friendly manner and compliment you?”

Master Bruce went still, impossibly sinking lower in his seat.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred forced a teasing smile. “Do you realise what every single man your age in this country would sacrifice just to be in your position?”

The fourteen year old looked away, chest shuddering. 

“You lucky boy, I let you out of my sights for one night and you already get not just one but several beautiful women to fall for you.”

Master Bruce fell near limbless, eyes glazing over. But Alfred looked away before he could see anything else. He didn’t have the heart to. 

Instead, he forced a chuckle as they pulled up to the Manor gates. “You sly dog.”

Once the car was parked, Master Bruce stepped out, wrapping his suit jacket tighter around himself. A different reaction compared to how he was throwing it off yesterday. 

The child scampered away but Alfred stayed in the car, turning it off as slowly as possible as he tried to keep his own wits together. Swallowing down bile as he tried his best to justify his choices. 

The next day there were no complaints. There was no begging. No negotiations. Master Bruce simply went to school on Monday morning and emerged from his room that same evening with a new suit on. 

Alfred manually overrode any worries with his pride. Master Bruce was shaping up to become the same man as his father before him. A billionaire philanthropist with Wayne Enterprises in one hand and a medical degree in the other. 

Alfred smoothed down Master Bruce’s suit jacket. Smiling down at him. The teenager was expressionless. Going through the motions beautifully. 

“Ready?” Alfred asked.

Master Bruce looked up at him, nothing on his face betraying his thoughts. He was doing so much better in only a matter of days. 

“Is there any use in saying ‘no’?” Master Bruce said, his tone flat and simple. Then he walked off towards the garage, leaving Alfred with a twisting root of discomfort in his gut. 

No matter what he tried, Alfred was unable to get any more conversation from the fourteen year old. The drive was silent save for the butler’s own ramblings. But this was good, it had to be good, Master Bruce was growing stronger. 

“Two hours.” Alfred said as they approached the building. “I’ll be here.”

Master Bruce finally glanced up, no expression in his eyes. 

Alfred waited in the car. Simultaneously more and less worried than he had been in this exact situation. 

Now both Master Bruce and Alfred were aware of what to expect. It decreased Alfred’s worries that Master Bruce would have been able to prepare himself better. But at the same time, knowing that the real adults in the room were drinking and letting their hands wander and prod around his the child’s body bothered him immensely. 

No, he should not allow it to disturb him. Master Bruce is a young man after all, no longer a child. He could make his own decisions on what was right or wrong. Boys his age loved that type of attention. They craved it and sought it out. Alfred, in all honesty, could not recall having such feelings at that specific age but it was nearly twenty years ago, he had probably just forgotten. 

Again, Master Bruce was prompt in his escape. Jumping into the car before Alfred even had the chance to open the door for him. The butler would need to speak to him about that, anyone watching would have thought it improper. 

Before starting the car, Alfred turned around to praise Master Bruce for his efforts. However, something seemed different…

“Where is your suit jacket?” Alfred frowned. He would have to retrieve it if Master Bruce forgot it somewhere. 

Master Bruce was buckling himself in, struggling with shaking fingers. He delayed answering Alfred’s query. Settling himself in and avoiding eye contact. 

“Well?” Alfred pushed. 

Master Bruce stared out the window, not looking straight at Alfred. “Some of the ladies said it was too hot and took it away.”

Alfred blinked. “Took it away?”

“I hadn’t wanted to take it off.” A steady blush was rising on Master Bruce’s cheeks. Alfred could see it even in the dark. “So Mrs Marshall pulled it off. Then the ladies played a game of hiding it away.” He ducked his chin close to his chest. 

A car drove past, headlights bright. It was when the light shined upon Master Bruce that Alfred noticed something that tightened and twisted his stomach. The little stain of red on Master Bruce’s collar. Barely noticeable in the dark but still present against the white shirt. 

Alfred turned around swiftly at the revelation, head going a bit dizzy as he started the car mechanically. Steadying himself while he tried to rationalise and excuse the lipstick stain. 

Master Bruce was lucky. Alfred reminded himself. Boys that age tended to lie that they were older just so that they could get even a smidge of the attention he was getting. He was lucky.

With his mouth dry, Alfred couldn’t help but ask. “I hope you were careful.”

There was a rustle of movement but Alfred kept his eyes on the road, refusing the look at Master Bruce. “Huh?”

“Well,” Alfred tried to think of how to bring it up casually. “From the state of your collar, it seems like you decided to have a little fun.”

Again, Master Bruce was quiet. His breathing the only thing filling the car. 

“It is alright.” Alfred reassured. Wondering when the boy had grown up so much. “You are old enough to do as you wish as long as I do not hear of it.” Then he frowned. “I’m sure you know how to be safe. I shall purchase what you require for… protection.”

Breathlessly, he heard “I didn’t…” but then Master Bruce fell silent. 

Alfred nodded. This is normal. This was extremely normal for boys. Men. “Very well. I am glad you are gaining confidence, Master Bruce.”

And that was the end of the conversation. Alfred nodded to himself once more. Yes, this was exactly the kind of forward thinking this country needed. It blurred the lines of professionalism, but if Alfred was buying clothes and such for his ward, it only made sense he also buy protection that Master Bruce might struggle to obtain. It was important they were having these conversations now and nipping it in the bud. His own father never spoke to him of such things. It was important. Teaching the boy how to stay safe in this department. Imagine the scandal if something was to occur due to the lack of protection. 

Alfred was only glad it was the last gala for the year. As time progressed, Master Bruce would be delving more and more into higher society and Alfred was sure Master Bruce was more than ready with all the tools he needed. 

Master Bruce was safe. And Alfred had somehow, through all his fumbling, managed to direct him towards developing into his best self. This boy was ready to follow in the steps of his mother and father. 

Alfred could not afford to have any regrets. 

🦇

There was a circus. 

🦇