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He saw the void. Its depth and width that was so expansive Bruce was shocked that he was not already within its grasp. He’d been here, the day that Dick got shot, the day that Tim was being broken by Bane when Jason died… When he saw Damian on that platform. This void was always there, tempting him, allowing him the choice to be lost in his own mind. To enable the instinct to take over and have its way with him.
There was a chill that crawled up from the depth. He’d always assumed, from the few churches he’d wandered into over the years, that Hell was hot. But this begged a different result. Bruce hated the cold, how deep the chill really set into his bones when he was within this space.
Jump
The voice was… New. It sounded like him, but more like his beginning Batman voice. Something that swallowed gravel and was stuck in his throat. Bouncing around to create a voice that came off the rocks and gargled the noise that he didn’t bother to make more coherent. It sent shivers up and down his spine.
Jump
Bruce slithered a step forward.
“He was curled up in his study this morning.” Jason jumped at the sudden reminder that Damian was there, in front of him, waiting for Jason to comment on his training technique. “If that is why you seem to have the ‘Thousand-yard stare’ as Drake once put it.”
“I taught Timmy that phrase.”
“Tt.” Damian turned back to his “pets” and commanded them again in a small circle that slowly got bigger. They were seeing how far away they could get from Damian before they disappeared.
Jason hunched his shoulders, glancing back to the comm station where he saw Alfred sitting, instructing. He and Damian were hidden, and far enough away that they did not need to whisper. “How was he after that? Normal?”
“If you call moving only through the shadows normal, then yes. He hasn’t walked into a room normally in the past three days. I’m fairly certain that Pennyworth is going to start growing greyer hairs if this continues. On top of it all Drake has been avoiding Father, and Father has been doing the same. Though Drake has confided in me that he does not know what he would say to Father after he ‘benched’ him until this silence is over, but… I would say he is not alone in his pondering.” Damian turned to Jason again, the two creatures disappearing once they were over 200 yards away. It was further than the week previous. “What happened?”
“Couldn’t tell ya,” Jason muttered, indicating for the kid to go again, “B was already close to passing out by the time that Dick and I showed up. Tim said that the shadows made a move to go at him, but he thought was because Bruce was freaking out. Panic attacks and all that.” Jason waved his hand around, putting out a hand when Titus gave it a sniff.
Damian stayed silent for a moment before indicating for Titus to go over to him. Jason watched the hound go and almost smiled from how gently the kid rubbed a hand over the dog’s neck. “Father does not seem the type to… Panic.”
“Panic attacks can hit anyone. Something must be really bothering him if he still isn’t talking to Tim, or to Alfred for that matter.”
“Pennyworth does seem to be upset that he can’t tell what is wrong with Father.” Jason did not need the confirmation. Alfred not knowing something means that this is worse than he realized. “Though… He and Father have seemed rather tense lately about a certain subject. They stop talking about it the moment I or Drake enter the room.”
Jason raised a brow. “So maybe Alfie knows more than we thought. Huh…” Jason pondered for a moment. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe he’ll spill some tea for me.”
Damian’s brow curled and he pets down Titus’ side. “Pennyworth is much too proper to spill tea, Todd.”
Alfred Pennyworth was many things in the Wayne household; Butler, Father, Grandfather, Agent A, ‘Cleaning Wizard’, and waiter when the gala called for it. But Jason saw him as the man who he went to when Bruce was just too rough around the edges when the manor seemed too large and too small all at the same time. He’d confided in Alfred when Dick was being… Well, a dick. When Bruce wasn’t making any sense in the field or at home. And he’d gone to him when he came back from the dead and a dip in the stupid Lazarus pit.
Jason looked up to the man who introduced him to many a classic that he hadn’t read yet, and who would stop what he was doing to listen to Jason ramble for a while. Seeing said man paused in the kitchen, eyes glued on a tablet, and well-maintained mustache in a particular frowning motion was shocking, to say the least. “Alfie?”
The Butler, if Jason hadn’t been watching, jumped and turned off the tablet at the same time. “Master Jason. Is there something I can do for you?” Looking for the tense nature that Damian had mentioned, Jason saw it in the man’s posture. His back was more rigid, almost as if it would snap in half if he had to bow at all. If he didn’t know the man so well, Jason would have thought that Alfred was experiencing lower back pain.
“I needed to ask you something. Damian mentioned you and Bruce having some intense conversation earlier.” Alfred’s lip seemed to almost get stiffer.
“I assure you, Master Jason, you need not worry yourself over it. We have the situation under control.” Jason raised a brow as Alfred turned and start to move around the crisping lettuce in a colander in the sink. “Would you care for a chicken salad, my boy? I can get out the homemade dressing and some bacon bits if you would like.” Jason nodded, but later verbally confirmed when Alfred didn’t turn to look at him.
It wasn’t until the salad was in front of him that Jason actually looked at the clock. It was nearly eight in the morning. Why is Alfred crisping this early? Jason took a bite and tried to ignore the feeling of the lettuce against his teeth and the tastelessness that came with the iceberg lettuce. He had been grabbing Romane for himself and Dick and had forgotten that Alfred liked Iceberg more. Still, the dressing was good.
“What’s up with B then?” Jason tried poking again, trying a slightly different angle.
Alfred gave a sigh and start to chop some tomatoes that he was putting with another salad. Jason wasn’t convinced that Alfred knew it was too early for Lunch. “That, Master Jason, I am unsure of myself. There is one issue I know of that could have started this, but after you three brought him back I can’t seem to convince him that the shadows are not the ideal way to roam about the house. His eyes dart around as if he is… Waiting for something to pop out at him. I’m considering calling miss Zatanna again to see if it has anything to do with…” Alfred’s voice trailed off. Jason jumped to his feet and ran around the island.
Blood was on the cutting board and Jason took the knife and washed it off in the sink quickly before putting Alfred’s hand under the stream to clean the wound. “Alfie,” Jason went for the first aid kit that was in each room. “What-?”
“I’m quite alright, My Boy. Just a cut, accidents do tend to happen.” Alfred reassured him from the sink, head turned away, seemingly on his hand that was dripping water and red. Jason watched him for a moment but went back to the kit.
When he was satisfied and properly cleaned the cut, Jason assessed that Alfred, thankfully, hadn’t cut himself too deeply. He also thanked heaven above that Alfred kept sharp knives in the manor only, and that it was a clean cut. “I assure you, Master Jason. I will be fine to finish my chopping.” Alfred admonished, trying to herd Jason back to his breakfast salad.
I know… But you have never cut yourself in the kitchen. Jason stared after the man. Alfred cleaned off his workstation, sanitized, pulled out a different cutting board and knife, and got to work. Jason watched a moment longer before he finished up his salad. The Iceberg sat in his stomach like a stone.
None of this conversation felt right.