Chapter Text
Alfred had anticipated an ordinary night in.
Setting up in his room for a good book and perhaps a glass of wine, seeing as it was his night off.
He was not as adventurous as he used to be.
After ten years in the special forces, he was more than happy to have a calm night in.
More than happy for no more surprises.
The night seemed to have another idea.
Just as he was sitting down and cracking open his favorite book, the phone rang, echoing throughout the massive house, sending an odd rush of foreboding through him.
A sixth sense told him that while he didn’t want to answer this phone, he had to answer it.
Picking up the receiver, setting down his glass as he did.
“Wayne's residence?” he asked.
“This is officer Davis with Gotham City Police, may I speak with Alfred Pennyworth?
“This is him,” Alfred responded, already feeling the pit of dread fill his stomach.
“You have been listed as emergency contact with virtually everything involving the Wayne family, I am calling to inform you-”
Emergency contact.
Shot.
Park Row.
Bruce Wayne, unaccounted for.
Unaccounted for.
Missing.
Alfred was now glad he had not drank this evening.
Hurrying out the door and to the cars before driving as safely as possible to the address provided to him. It would do nothing for him.
He was on autopilot, going where he had been told.
Arriving there and finding exactly what was expected.
Police tape, around two bodies covered with sheets as a way to shield them from the general public, as if defending some token of modesty to the deceased.
What does it matter now?
The only thing it shielded them from was the vulture paparazzi already swarming as Alfred looked around the scene for any clue of where to go from here.
He needed to find any idea of what to do next, who to talk to about Bruce.
Then he saw it.
A handprint.
Small, like a child.
Red.
Pointing one direction, like he was pushing himself up if that were anything to go by then he would only need to go the direction opposite of where the thumb was pointed.
Looking closer to see another small footprint going in that same direction before disappearing altogether.
He had his direction.
He followed it.
Getting into the car and driving off, ignoring the swarm of paparazzi now noticing him as he went further into the Ally.
Driving through, looking for a boy in a nice suit, likely with at least one bloody hand, probably crying.
He could do that.
He could find him.
He would find him.
If someone had taken him.
Well, he didn't have a gun in the trunk for show.
Driving through crime alley at night was unnerving at the best of times, when you fear a child in danger it's all the more worrisome.
He was going to have to use shotty streetlights as a way to track movement.
Continuing to drive as he scanned the areas for what could have changed, what showed signs of struggle, where the blood landed, and who was walking. Everything.
Then he saw it.
A pair of white eyes looking at the car along with a dark mop of hair.
A dark mop of hair attached to a little body wearing a ruined suit.
Bruce.
He immediately parked the car and ran up to the boy, ignoring the people around that was giving the child a wide berth.
Alfred wouldn't worry about that right now. Bruce was here, he was safe he-
“Oh, lord…” Alfred paused looking down at the boy with blood gushing out the side of his head and blank white eyes staring back at him with an expressionless face.
No iris no pupils, nothing.
Alfred rushed to think of something to do or say here.
“Well, it’s good to see you still walking.” he decided on finally looking down at the child in what he hoped was reassuring.
That seemed to break the boy out of his thoughts as his lips turned into a frown with tears beginning to well up.
“M-mom and dad…” the boy stammered, voice wavering as he did.
Alfred sighed a little before crouching down to his level.
So he had a very likely undead child in his care now.
Wonderful.
He could work with this.
Probably.
Really, he understood the logic of getting back in the car and driving off, but then what happens?
Who ends up with the child?
What if some stranger takes him in only to find a vengeful spirit attacking them?
Alfred would prefer a different outcome if possible
At the very least he has special forces training.
Alfred knew that he was listed as young Bruce’s godfather should anything happen.
This does not change.
Though he must say when he agreed to those terms he never expected an undead child.
Coming to a decision Alfred reached out, opening his arms for the boy to run forward and throw himself into them, clinging onto him like a little monkey.
“I’m here Master Bruce, but we must get you home, it’s not safe to be out here so late.” he shushed, standing up with Bruce still in his grasp as he began walking towards the car.
“B-but…” he stammered voice still the same wavy tone.
“We will sort this out with time. Though right now, I think the best thing to do will be to go home and have a look at your head. Yeah?” he asked, setting the boy in the back seat and buckling his seat belt for him, and climbing into the driver's seat before beginning the journey home.
Driving home after a busy night with Bruce.
Only that.
Not thinking about anything else at the moment.
Not thinking about detectives, funerals, or the undead child in his back seat.
Only driving home with a very alive, very tired eight-year-old boy.
Nothing more.
By the time he arrived in the garage his resolve had been reinforced, looking back at the child and seeing him sucking on his thumb as he rubbed at his eyes with the other.
Both habits the boy had outgrown, seemed to have come back due to stress.
Alfred let himself out of the car, taking a few moments to gather his bearings before extracting the child from his seat. Allowing his propriety to slip for the time being as he carried him inside and into Bruce’s bedroom, grabbing Thomas’s medical bag along the way.
A prop he kept for theatrics more than anything, but would do just the trick for this.
Setting the boy down on the toilet in his bathroom, the first thing Alfred did was get rid of his suit jacket and button-up, allowing him to inspect the boy's torso for any additional injuries.
Thankfully none seemed to be presenting themselves as Alfred moved on to the boy's head, beginning to part out his hair to see the bullet still firmly wedged in.
Alfred sighed before holding out a hand to Bruce.
“May I pinch your arm?” he asked as Bruce nodded, sucking his thumb once again.
Alfred went ahead with a small pinch, watching the boy for a reaction.
“Tell me when it hurts,” he instructed, pinching harder and harder till Alfred was positive he had to be in pain only to see the boy still sucking his thumb and Staring at Alfred with that same blank look.
“What does it feel like?” he asked finally.
Bruce's brow furrowed in an adorably childish way as he thought
“Itchy,” he said finally, pulling his thumb out of his mouth to speak, reaching for one of his rubber ducks to hold onto
Alfred hummed in thought looking at his head again.
“Do tell me if this hurts at any point,” Alfred said finally going and putting on gloves and a mask to pull the foreign object out.
At one point Bruce did say it also felt ‘itchy’ but otherwise sat stalk still through the whole procedure until Alfred stitched it shut for him.
Stepping back after and taking a deep breath.
It’s quite telling that he is more worried to listen to a heartbeat than he is to dress a gunshot wound.
All the same, he extracted the stethoscope from the bag and knelt down behind the boy and asked him to take a deep breath.
He did so as Alfred heard the air mechanically fill his lungs before exhaling.
Alfred waited.
Bruce did not breathe in again.
He just sat there waiting until Alfred asked him to breathe in again.
His lungs were healthy, should the boy choose to use them.
Moving on to his chest now, sitting and listening closely for anything, even the slightest of sounds.
Nothing.
Not that he expected much different.
Still, it left Alfred a brand new can of worms to unpack.
“Well then, may I ask you a few questions master bruce?” he asked calmly, pulling away and packing the bag back up as Bruce nodded.
“Wonderful, first can you tell me your name?” he asked.
“Bruce Wayne…” he said, eyes beginning to well up with tears again.
“Mom and dad are…” he trailed being cut off by a sob as Alfred reached out and pulled him to a hug, picking him up and bringing him to the bedroom
“That they are glad. I am truly sorry.” Alfred soothed holding him close as he pet the child's hair
He knew from experience that the last thing you want to do here is to rush through the crying.
Laying back in the rocking chair in Bruce's room, allowing the boy to get out his emotions.
The only positive of this being that he was, at least, a mostly harmless undead child.
Doing his best to be comforting to the boy as he rocked them back and forth, eventually hearing his sobs die down to sniffles and hiccups as Alfred slowly got up and shifted to set the boy on his bed as Alfred sat down next to him in the same chair.
“Can you tell me my name?” Alfred asked, seeing the tired look on the boy.
“Alfred Pennyworth,” he said.
“Good, and what book would you like to read?” he asked.
“Peter pan,” Bruce said as Alfred nodded, helping him get tucked in before going and pulling the book off his shelf and cracking it open to the beginning.
“What's gonna happen to me?” Bruce asked as Alfred was about to start reading, making him pause.
“Well… I do believe we should start out with a good rest, and we can worry about the rest in the morning I think,” he assured the boy who sat silently in the bed after that, allowing Alfred to begin reading to Bruce like he always did.
Like it was simply any other night with Thomas and Martha out late to a gala and Bruce was having trouble sleeping.
When Bruce closed his eyes it became all the easier to pretend, just for tonight that everything was the same.
Alfred kept reading until they reached the end, closing the book, only to be met with Bruce sitting up quickly.
“Can you stay?” he asked.
Alfred could not in good conscience tell him no.
Not tonight.
“Of course, I can.” He smiled sitting back to get comfortable in the chair, knowing his back would disagree in the morning as Bruce laid back down and closed his eyes with Alfred following suit.
The morning was going to have many new challenges for them.
Obligations of funerals, and press arrangements, but right now, he was simply with Bruce after the boy had a nightmare, and his mother and father were at a Gala, soon to arrive home.
Nothing more.