Chapter Text
It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons.
Friedrich von Schiller
The manor was silent. In the darkness, it looked more like a mausoleum, the tomb of a once happy family.
Alfred was in front of the painting of Thomas and Martha, and for the umpteenth time, he wondered why.
Why me?
Thomas Wayne was a kind and patient man who had always wanted to have a family. It was all things Alfred wasn't.
Alfred was a former soldier, an actor who was never good to start, and a semi-decent butler. He was cold, not prone to nonsense, and with a tough temper. So how could one take care of a recently orphaned child? A child who had witnessed the death of his parents?
Bruce deserved better. Bruce deserved some real help, from someone who could really help him. There were relatives on Thomas's part. Martha had a sister.
Any of them would have been better off as a guardian (except the Kanes were vultures, Thomas's cousin was a drunkard and God don't get him to start talking about Martha's parents.)
Thomas and Martha, however, had been clear in their will.
We designate Alfred Pennyworth as our son's legal guardian until he reaches adulthood ...
Alfred was English to the core. A true gentleman. This had prevented him from unleashing an unpleasant holy shit in the presence of strangers and the notary. It wouldn't have been convenient.
Why Alfred?
It was the question the Kanes and Alfred himself were asking.
Alfred didn't have the skills to be a parent. He couldn't replace Thomas. (Nobody would have been able to do that).
He wasn't what Bruce needed.
"Are you leaving?"
He nearly had a heart attack. Bruce was by the window, a pale shadow of the joyful child he had been. He had obvious dark circles under his eyes, the look wrinkled and destroyed. Alfred's throat felt dry, “Dear boy, no. What did this idea give you? "
"You don't like it here," the boy said with disarming simplicity.
"You don't like me."
"Who gave you this idea?"
"Nobody. "
"Master Bruce ..."
The boy bit his lip, “You worked for my parents. Not for me. You have no obligation to me. "
"I don't feel obligated to stay," he said, and it sounded faint to his own ears.
Bruce understood this. He wasn't stupid.
“It's okay if you want to leave, Alfred. You can do it. I will remember you. I remember all those who leave. "
He said it in a dismissive, resigned tone. He had prepared to be abandoned by the only other person he was familiar with.
Alfred had made him think it was inevitable because he was unable to look beyond himself, shutting himself in his grief and becoming blind to the rest.
Master Thomas, I'm already doing everything wrong.
"Young master Bruce, I'm not leaving," he said, a little more confident this time.
"If it's for the will, you can contact the lawyers."
“No, young master. I stay because I want to. "
Half a lie, but the young master was too young to understand it. Bruce frowned, "But you don't like me."
"Why do you think that?"
"You've never been alone with me for a long time."
The butler opened his mouth to reply and closed it immediately. It was true, though. Even when Waynes were alive, he was never alone with Bruce.
There was the nurse, and the nanny, all more qualified people than him. He was in charge of personnel management, security, and the care of the owners.
There was never a need to interact more than necessary with Bruce. Alfred was just another employee, he had no reason to be confidential with his employer's son.
He guessed that now there was a need for more than just friendliness. Children needed care, love, and understanding.
So one had to ask: how far would he go for that child?
“It will be different now, Master Bruce. I…"
He licked his dry lips, unsure what to say. It seemed to him all empty and meaningless. Bruce needed something concrete, not empty promises.
“I cannot replace your parents, Master Bruce. But I'll always be on your side. I'll try to be what you need ... "
Maybe it will fail terribly. Perhaps it will irreparably ruin the child. Maybe, maybe, maybe ... there were too many black ones!
Alfred will do his best. In memory of Thomas and Martha. For Bruce.
Bruce asked no more questions. He went to Alfred and hugged him. Albeit awkwardly, Alfred reciprocated, stroking his head and letting him cry.
After that, his shirt will be stained with tears and snot. He didn't care.
Alfred wasn't meant to be a parent. But for Bruce, he'll try.