Chapter Text
On the night that Martha and Thomas Wayne died, it rained. It fell in echoes of their son’s sorrow, pounding a staccato beat against the manor’s walls. At daybreak, the papers would name twelve year old Bruce Wayne an orphan and his worst tragedy would be paraded around for all to see. However for the night, all was quiet.
In the darkened master bedroom, Alfred Pennyworth, blew out a match. The smell of crisp apples filled the space as he set a flickering candle back among Mrs. Wayne’s collection. The faint but warm light cast hard shadows over the small lump he’d found curled up in the middle of the four poster bed that had just five hours before belonged to the Wayne parents.
Bruce shook and rocked back and forth in uneasy sleep, tucked tight into a fetal position with his knuckles turning white from the grip he had on his knees. His cheeks were reddened and streaked with old and fresh tears. He still wore the suit from the opera.
Alfred sat at the end of the bed and smoothed back the wild curls that fell over the boy’s pale face, a motion that seemed to soothe him. The morning would not be easy for either of them and while he would never voice it, Alfred suspected that Bruce’s life would not be easy for a very long time.
He eased the boy’s shoes off before working the heavy maroon duvet from under his lanky frame. When the heavy blanket draped over Bruce’s shoulders, the tragedy of the night seemed to bleed away and he shifted before relaxing in his father’s pillow, nose pressed into the pillowcase. The smile that crossed Alfred’s lips was sad and mournful but not without hope. Bruce was a strong kid. Far stronger than anyone gave him credit for and he would make it through this. Alfred would make sure of it.