Chapter Text
Cameras in crime alley were spotty at best, and broken more often than not. The people of the area never let the cameras stay for long, breaking them, covering them, or, if those failed, breaking the part of the building they were attached to. But Alfred knew it was his only bet, and ran a program to track any person or vehicle heading there from where Robin had last been.
The cameras in the car jackers side of town, on the other hand, were still abundant. The gang's pathetic effort to shoot them out or hit them with thrown rocks and bricks was nothing compared to the efforts of The Alley. The footage from them was more than enough to confirm his grandson hadn’t been taken that way, and crossed the small gang off his list. They may not know it, but that was a gift they should be grateful for.
It was nearing three hours since Tim went missing when the programme finally put together a hit on grainy cameras with shattered lenses. Piecing together a string of similar shapes on an unmarked motorcycle. Alfred drove to where it had last pinged a camera just outside an abandoned industrial complex.
A hollow pang rang in his heart at the sight. More than once Jason had spoken of this area, of hiding in the abandoned buildings from child services, police and people whole’s cars he stole tires from. The mischievous smile on his face as he spoke of running through the labyrinth of hallways, warehouses, rooms and shop floors to lose his pursuers. He would give anything to hear those stories again. Even if he was less than happy with what they clearly implied about his life before Bruce brought him home.
Anything to get rid of the rubble in his mind where he once felt his family so clearly, now only a small stream of distant and muddled emotions. Or, at least, it had been.
Very few things made Alfred freeze. Made his sure footing slip, or his hands on the wheel falter. The scrape of the Batmobile on a wall before he corrected the wheel grating in his ears. But it might as well have been music when paired with his realization.
The rubble around his bond with his family was breaking. Falling away like it was being pushed from the other side. The side where the door to his third grandson had formed, already buried and out of reach from day one. The barrier around Dick and Bruce’s bond was nearly gone, their own force of will shoving it aside as it was loosened by the other force.
And he could, for the first time since he first laid eyes on the boy, feel the beginning of a proper connection with Tim. Of the bond he had prayed would return if he just got Bruce to let him in. The same spark that Dick had felt, and known he couldn't interfere with. The one that had led him to helping Tim steal the suit in hopes the third Robin would help them heal. The one that had never formed, blocked by the lingering pain and heartbreak of Jason’s death.
Alfred leaned his head against the wheel, parked in a warehouse on the edge of the industrial area, and breathed. Years. It had been YEARS since he could feel this, his family, and it was overwhelming his mind and blocking his senses. Even as small as it was, it pulled his attention away from the world around him and inwards. The weak sense of fear he had felt from both Bruce and Dick, weakened further by distance, was still stronger than before they left, and growing even stronger by the second. Not just from them making their way back to Earth, already returning after getting the message about Tim, but because it was healing.
He felt their own shock mingling with the fear, and relief as they also found their forming bond with Tim. But he could tell they couldn't feel something else. A fourth door, buried and blocked more than even Tim’s, but there. He couldn’t feel any emotions from it, but it was solid and there in his mind. With a surge of realization, Alfred grabbed the two sources, Tim and the other he couldn’t sense anything but the presence of. The two were not only close by, but near each other. And with them together forming a strong enough tether, he could find them.
Taking a deep breath, Alfred composed himself behind the wheel. Far more time than he should have allowed had passed as he had dwelled in his emotions and memories. He had to hold himself together till Tim, and whoever the boy was with, were safe. Such personal matters had to wait till after his grandson and the new bird were home where they belonged.
Grasping the bond with Tim and the new bird, and pushing every comforting thought he could through to them, Alfred began to drive through the maze. Even using the tether to the two, it was passed the four hour mark since Tim used his panic button when he found himself parking the Batmobile outside the building he could feel them in and was making his way in on foot.
Shotgun ready and wings out in case of a fight, Alfred quietly made his way through the wide hallways. Passing piles of broken wooden planks that had once been pallets, and the occasional discarded palled jack, he guessed this building had been used for moving large quantities of goods and storage, hence the wide hall. But it was the light tire tracks he took particular interest in and followed. Noting how the driver took full advantage of the wide halls to weave around the debris, he was glad to see they had been careful and precise. Whoever had taken his grandson had been driving carefully with him, and that gave him some comfort. Following them closely, the tracks led directly to a motorcycle parked in a room with nothing but walls covered in electrical panels.
Looking over the bike, he found a signal jammer strong enough to cancel out even Batman’s own trackers. Checking the device that showed the Bat and Birds trackers, he found his own had similarly been silenced, the device itself also losing its signal. It was with a sense of satisfaction he disabled the jammer, and smiled as he saw both his signal and the device were working properly again. Though he still couldn’t pick up Robin’s.
Alfred’s eye narrowed at one of the walls in particular, behind which he felt the birds he was after. Pulling out his phone to check the blueprints of the building, he frowned. This room was meant to be an electrical room, the primary location of all the off switches for the entire building. An outdated design discarded for safety years ago in favor of multiple off switch locations after a number of lawsuits from shut offs taking too long. The scan of the blueprints matched the room exactly. But something was still off about how the room was set up, on top of the fact there was nowhere the rider could have gone but back the other way.
Thinking of the lawsuits and getting an idea, he flicked to another copy blueprint backed up on the Batcomputer. The files were from when Batman and the first Robin had taken down a handful of corrupt judges who had helped cover up safety violations in the industrial complex he was in. The judges long since jailed, the victims made right, and the case files sealed. He was glad for Bruce’s refusal to delete anything when he saw the publicly available scan he had looked at first was doctored. The room was exactly the same, barring one thing.
The wall the bike was left parked nearest, and he sensed Tim and the other behind, wasn’t supposed to be there. It was supposed to be a hallway lined by a series of rooms, all for storage of different kinds. Checking all of the currently available scans of the blueprints, he found a small line of code had been added to each to alter that section of the scan, and a small smile spread across his face. They were good, but Batman’s record keeping was better.
Stepping up to the wall, Alfred appraised the boxes. They were covered in the same layer of dust as the rest of the room, though more than one criminal had designed machines to apply dust to a level only his son could determine. Nothing jumped out to him as he moved back and forth along the walls, checking them all for a way to reveal the door he knew had to be there. No sensors, no levers or buttons, not even a single latch was present. He couldn’t even find a camera or detection devices in the room to send notice of intruders. The entire building had been the same in that regard, not a single one of Batman’s devices picking anything up on the way in. Whoever had set this up chose lack of security in favor of harder detection.
Feeling the birds on the other side, he pulled at Tim’s bond again, still not quite able to get a full connection. If not for the calm from the boy and lack of fear or pain, the non existent response to a bond that should have been overwhelming him from its mere existence would have been far more alarming.
But unable to find a way in, he was left with only one option, and simply hoped the unknown bird would not react poorly to the contact with their mind. Filling his intent with comfort and a plea for help and trust, Alfred pushed against the fourth door that had formed in his mind.
A moment later he felt a response, much like when he found Bruce asleep at his desk or the Batcomputer, and felt guilty as he realized he had woken them. But, still needing to get to the two, he pushed and pulled, urgently calling them to find a way to get the door open. It was a minute or two before the wall opened on an invisible seam.
Alfred kept the shotgun ready, but down by his side, finger on the trigger. Even if it might scare the bird, he had to be ready in case a threat followed them. He still wasn’t ready when he saw the figure on the other side of the door.
Older or not, disguised or otherwise, Alfred would always recognize his boys. And there in front of him, a shock of white hair falling over a domino peeling at the edges and a pair of red wings dragging tiredly behind on the ground, was Jason. The shotgun slid from his grasp in shock, but Alfred found himself rushing forward to catch his grandson instead of retrieving it, catching the exhausted boy as he stumbled back and lost his footing.
There was nothing he could do as the door closed behind him, his main weapon cut off from him as he slid the boy to the ground and checked him over. The butler felt his blood run cold at the sight of Pit Green eyes under the domino, realizing exactly how his grandson was alive. He was grateful to The Pit nonetheless as he met Jason’s eyes again, and pulled the tired young man into his arms
Alfred glanced around the bunker, evaluating the space as he held Jason and wrapped his wings around the boy protectively. Brushing a hand through Jason’s hair and over his wings, he checked for injuries. He was glad to find the only problem was the out of reach feathers simply needing tending where most of the family found the hardest to get at on their own.
He looked down the hallway, finding it fit the blueprints he had dug up, entrances to rooms where they should be even if they had been thoroughly remodeled. Leaning the boy against the wall when he drifted off, Alfred stood, pulling out an extendable baton to look through the space. He had to ensure there weren’t any threats and find Tim. With one last glance at the grandson he thought lost, and promised to come back for him, Alfred stepped towards the closest room.
Walking in, Alfred stiffened at the sight of a bloodied operating table and clear signs of a surgery. He tested the blood, and was alarmed to find it was Tim’s. Turning on his heel before finishing checking the room, Alfred made a beeline to where he sensed Tim, knuckles white around the baton. He stopped dead in his tracks at the entrance to the plush nesting room, seeing a sleeping Tim with wings at his back.
He had missed it. Tim had fledged, and he had missed both the signs of it coming and had failed to be there to help. He had stopped watching for it entirely. They had long since given up hope Tim would get his wings. Just as they had given up hope with Jason. They had stopped checking, stopped doing scans or exams of any kind for fledging, after a year. After the toll the reminder had on the young boy’s morale. They had stopped checking. Just like they had with Jason when he didn’t get his. They were clearly wrong about both. It had likely been the pain of fledging that had gotten Tim in danger to begin with. That had nearly cost him another grandson.
Alfred moved to the other side of the room, gently checking the fledgling over. The soon to be feathered wings twitched at this back when touched, a sign that they had been freed in time with no major problems. Though a bruise forming on one of the wings, matching a bruise forming on the ribs it had been curled around where it had grown, made it clear how close that was to not being the case. The cuts on his back were already nearly invisible, only noticeable because he knew what to look for. The blow to his head he was sure the boy had taken was also healed over, the hair still damp from being cleaned.
The butler wasn’t surprised when Tim hardly stirred, the toll of fledging and healing the injuries to his side and head exhausting him. A grimace formed on Alfred’s face as he found a large bruise also forming on Tim’s arm, gentle prodding finding the healing, but still cracked, bone. It should be wrapped to be sure it healed properly, and he would certainly see to it.
Standing, Alfred made his way through the bunker, checking over the rooms he had skipped to get to Tim. He was relieved to find the bunker empty except for Tim and Jason, concluding the older boy had been the one who intervened. He smiled at the cans of empty soup and mugs by a chair, glad they had gotten something in their systems, and grabbed the bag of supplies he found next to said chair.
Standing in the surgery room, and far less alarmed now he knew what had happened there, Alfred was about to leave when his eye landed on two objects in the corner he had missed. He stiffened at the sight of the red helmet, looking towards where he had left Jason. Where he had left Red Hood.
Everything the new crime lord had done in the short three months he had been in Gotham surged through his mind. All the people he had killed. All the operations the police had failed to stop. The surge in drugs being moved in the city. The sheer number of dealers he had, and all the times they got out getting charged because of perfect technicalities and well placed alibis.
Of all the trafficking operations Hood had stopped. All the men, women and children who had been saved from them. All the shelters that had been fixed up or put in place that then helped them more. The fact fewer people were hospitalized by laced drugs. The fact his dealers didn’t oversell and cause overdoses. All the kids who were safer for the rules he made. All the gangs he had reigned in and made less erratic and destructive. All the people in Crime Alley who swore by him with their lives. The same way people in the rest of Gothem swore by Batman. The way those in Bloodhaven swore by Nightwing. The way they all swore by Robin.
Of the men who would have taken yet another member of his family away from him.
Placing the helmet back on top of the jacket, Alfred stood and looked down at it, a pained but proud smile on his face.
“Try all you want, Joker, but you can’t take the good out of people.”
Afred returned to Jason, the boy stirring slightly at his approach. He knelt down and helped the exhausted boy up, guiding him to use the wall for support as they made their way back to the nest he was sure the boy had been roused from. Settling him next to the younger boy, he had to extract Tim’s arm from the red wings trying to cocoon him from the world to properly treat it. Jason had done more than enough already, so he was happy to take on the last step to care for Tim himself.
Finally, Alfred sat next to the sleeping birds, sending a calming confirmation to Bruce and Dick that Tim was safe. But he held off on connecting them with Jason, a greedy part of him wanting the time till they got back all to himself. Wing draping over the boys’ heads protectively and a hand resting over his grandsons, Alfred leaned back to sleep beside them.
“Bed time for birds.”