Chapter Text
Alfred didn’t get mad. It was a fact of life, like gravity makes things fall, water flows downhill, and compasses point north. Alfred always seemed clueless or unaffected by things.
Jack had only even seen Alfred angry once. The time strange people in dark clothes had come with guns to the orphanage, by exploding a hole in the west wing. They had told everyone to put their hands on their heads and sit on the floor. They had taken a camera and filmed themselves with a gun to Miss Blunnet’s head, threatening to kill her and the kids if Alfred and Arthur didn’t turn themselves in to them.
Alfred had arrived at the orphanage merely half a dozen minutes later.
Plane engines. Fire crackling. Screams echoing. Gunfire ringing out, sharp and sudden. A raging blaze, cutting through a pine forest like a scythe through grass, animals fleeing in terror. The snarling of a wolf, circling trapped prey. A tornado, wind shrieking, ripping apart houses, trees, and people alike, unfeeling and uncaring of who stood in it’s way. A blizzard, battering the landscape and swallowing up everything in it's wake in an impenetrable, choking, blinding white. Determination for compensation, an eye for an eye. Furious Alfred was vengeful, righteous anger and judgement and howling wind and sparks that burned the very air. Alfred’s fury promises retribution.
Pray for those who incite Alfred’s wrath, for that is all you can do for them.