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Alfred glanced between the two men standing by the table, his entire body taut. They were both armed- one openly, the other carrying a gun barely concealed in his waistband. He could see the finger of the openly carrying one twitch over the trigger as he watched Mr. Wayne work intently over Falcone and Alfred quickly suppressed his own response, keeping himself as still as possible. The tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife- or, perhaps more aptly, a bullet- and any sort of sudden movement was sure to turn an already bad situation into an even worse one. So he stayed still and silent, ready to cover Mr. Wayne and push him out of the way if the tension suddenly broke.
Mr. Wayne, for his part, seemed completely oblivious to the danger in the room. Alfred had rarely seen him in a medical capacity but he recognized the quiet, focused intensity in his expression and movements well enough. It had taken over his demeanor as soon as he'd come up to the door behind Alfred and seen Falcone, bleeding and held up by his two men, hurrying them inside without question or hesitation. Alfred had tried to object but Thomas had cut him off- this was a medical emergency and he was a doctor. He'd taken an oath, and he intended to uphold it. Even, it seemed, if that meant performing emergency surgery on one of Gotham's top crime bosses in the middle of the dining room.
"Gauze." Mr. Wayne held out a hand, voice calm and steady, and Alfred dutily handed him the roll of gauze he'd been holding. Falcone let out a gasp of pain as Mr. Wayne began wrapping the bullet wound and Alfred saw both the other men tense, but Thomas didn't seem to notice. He finished bandaging the wound with the same careful precision he'd used to remove the bullet before finally straightening up with a sigh. "I've done everything I can. The bleeding seems to have mostly stopped, but I wouldn't suggest moving him for at least a couple hours unless you have a stretcher and proper medical care lined up. Doing so risks causing the bleeding to start back up and if that happens, he could bleed to death." He turned to one of the men. "He should be taken to a hospital. I will gladly call an ambulance and-"
"Mr. Falcone's fine right here." The man cut him off, finally pulling the gun from his waistband. "He don't need a hospital, not when he's got you. Right, Mr. Wayne?"
Thomas gave a tight nod and Alfred saw him finally take in the guns both men were now holding. "Here he’ll stay, then." He quickly gathered up the bloody cloths scattered around Falcone on the table, handing them to Alfred. "If you could dispose of these, Alfred, I would appreciate it."
Alfred nodded. "Of course, sir." He didn't like the thought of leaving Thomas alone with Falcone's goons, but as long as Falcone was still alive, it was in everyone's best interest to keep Thomas alive too. It wasn't much of a comfort, but it was something.
Alfred was about to head down the hall towards the kitchen when he saw it- the brief flash of a pale face over the banister on the second floor. Alfred felt his stomach drop. No, please tell me he didn’t see this. He hurried to the kitchen, dumping the cloths on the counter before making his way back to the dining room, keeping his pace calm and steady enough not to startle Falcone’s men but still brisk. He would properly dispose of the cloths like Mr. Wayne had asked him to later, after he’d hopefully confirmed that he hadn’t seen what he was afraid he’d seen. Or dealt with the situation if he had in fact been right.
Alfred bit back a sigh as he reached the top of the stairs, concern gripping his chest at the sight that greeted him. Bruce was crouched below the railing, hugging his knees. He was in his pajamas- the commotion downstairs had probably woken him and drawn him out of his room to investigate. He was such an inquisitive child and Alfred usually counted that as a good thing, but some situations weren’t for young children to investigate.
Alfred walked over slowly, not wanting to startle him. Between the angle and the low light he couldn’t see Bruce’s face well, but he recognized his expression easily enough- it was the same intense, confused look he got before meltdowns, when he was stuck with strong emotions he couldn’t put into words. Alfred crouched down next to him, hand hovering over his shoulder but not making actual contact. “Master Bruce?” Bruce didn’t respond, and Alfred glanced through the slats of the banister at the dining room below. One of Falcone’s men was staring up at the landing with narrowed eyes, hand still gripping his gun. Alfred hesitated a moment longer before resting his hand on Bruce’s shoulder- he needed to get him out of here. “Come on, sir, let’s get you to your room.”
It took a moment of urging and Alfred was briefly afraid that the physical contact had been enough to send Bruce spiraling, but he finally managed to herd Bruce back to his room. He closed the door quietly, wanting to put as much of a barrier as he could between Bruce and everything happening downstairs. He supposed it was already a bit late for that- he didn’t know how long Bruce had been watching everything or how much he had seen, but it had clearly been enough to upset him- but steps taken late were better than steps not taken at all. Bruce had already crouched back down by the time Alfred turned. He was rocking slightly, the gentle movement setting off a pang of worry in Alfred’s chest. He walked over to Bruce’s bed, turning the lamp out as he passed it so that the only light in the room was the gentle glow of the nightlight in the corner. Keeping the room as dark and as quiet as possible was the best course of action right now until Bruce had calmed down.
It took Alfred a moment to find the weighted blanket among the rest of the blankets on Bruce’s bed, but he picked it up and carefully walked over to where the young boy was crouched. He wrapped the blanket gently around Bruce’s shoulders, careful not to touch him. He didn’t understand why Bruce loved the weighted blanket so much- especially when the similar weight of touch seemed to upset him so much- but Bruce pulled it around himself as tightly as he could. Alfred sat down on the floor across from him, close enough to reach him if he needed to but far enough away not to crowd Bruce. It was a delicate balance, but he’d gotten good at it over the past few years.
It was hard seeing him like this. Alfred wanted nothing more than to pull him into a hug and tell him it was alright, tell him to try and put what he had seen out of his mind, but he knew that wouldn’t help. It would only make things worse, and Alfred could already see how upset Bruce was. He could see it in his expression and the way he gripped the edge of the blanket tightly and the gentle, repetitive self-soothing movements as he rocked back and forth. Bruce needed comfort, but for him comfort wasn’t a hug. It was a dark, quiet room and space as he calmed down. Alfred didn’t understand it but it wasn’t his job to understand it, just to provide it as best he could.
He waited until Bruce had stopped rocking before speaking again, letting the minutes pass in silence. When the rocking had finally slowed to a halt and some of the intensity had faded out of Bruce’s expression, Alfred shifted, watching Bruce carefully. “Are you alright, Master Bruce?”
“Is he gonna die?” Bruce’s voice was quiet and shaky- maybe not quite as calmed down as Alfred had thought. “Is the man on the table gonna die?”
Alfred shook his head. “No. He was hurt, but your father helped him. He’s going to be alright.”
“Is dad going to die?”
Alfred blinked, the question catching him off guard. “Sir?”
“The men have guns. They look mad. Are they going to kill my dad?”
Alfred stared at Bruce, chest hurting. “No, they’re not going to hurt your father. Or anyone else here at the manor.” He kept his voice calm and quiet, trying to make his words as reassuring as he could even as he could feel sadness threatening to creep into his tone. A child should never have to ask such questions, and certainly not a child as young as the one sitting in front of him. “They’re just…worried. And that makes things a bit tense.”
Bruce nodded, staring at the floor. Alfred glanced back at the door- he would have heard something if things had gone wrong downstairs, but he still didn’t like the thought of leaving Mr. Wayne alone for this long. Not right now. He didn’t want to leave Bruce like this though, sitting in the middle of the floor, huddled under a weighted blanket. “Are you alright to get back into bed, sir?”
Bruce nodded again, standing slowly. Alfred followed him over to his bed, pulling the rest of the blankets over him as he laid down. “Are the men leaving now that my dad helped them?”
Alfred tucked the covers in, still careful to avoid accidentally brushing against Bruce’s shoulders. “In a little, yes. They have to make sure their…friend is okay, but then they’ll be on their way.” He resisted the urge to brush Bruce’s hair off his forehead, settling instead on giving him a warm smile. “I’ll be downstairs with your father the entire time.”
“You’ll protect him?”
“And you, and your mother. I promise.” Alfred watched Bruce a moment longer. He looked so small under all of the blankets, his expression far more serious than what any five year old should have. “Try to get some sleep, sir. It’s very late.”
He waited until Bruce gave him one last nod before walking back towards the door, pausing as he opened it to glance back at the small form curled up in the bed. They’d need to figure out how to handle Bruce witnessing this, but right now there were other things to worry about. Alfred sighed as he closed the door and headed back down the staircase, both of Falcone’s thugs watching him suspiciously. Mr. Wayne caught his eye and Alfred nodded, heading back into the kitchen to actually dispose of the cloths like he’d been asked to do. He couldn’t help but glance back up the stairs as he passed them, though. Bruce was supposed to accompany his father to several events over the next few days, but perhaps it would be best for him to spend the next few days at the manor, away from the bustle and noise of the rest of the world. He filed the thought away to bring up to Mr. Wayne in the morning, when this whole event was behind all of them. Alfred sighed as he picked the cloths up from where he’d left them on the counter and wiped away the blood that had pooled under them; regardless of how they went about it, he had no doubt it would be a difficult few days. Bruce would need comfort in the odd ways that seemed to help him, and even then Alfred knew the likelihood of a meltdown or two was high- it was only to be expected after something like this. It would be alright though. Alfred had sat with Bruce through bad days before; he would be there with him through these too.