Work Text:
When the doorbell rang Alfred’s first thought was to question what kind of people would possibly be attempting to call on Wayne Manor at eleven o'clock in the evening. More notably, this was after the bats had already gone out for patrol. It was almost as if the visitor knew the manor’s best defense would be away.
He approached the front door pausing briefly near the entry hall table to partially open one of the drawers. Reaching a hand in and upwards, he retrieved the small handgun he kept secured to the underside of the table, hanging hidden above the innocent contents of the drawer.
Tucking the weapon away in the back of his belt, underneath his suit jacket, he moved to open the door.
Two rough looking sorts sneered at him, pushing inside before he’d even gotten the door to full swing. It threatened to send him crashing to the floor, but he managed a few rapid steps back, keeping his footing.
“Hello, Jeeves!” the larger brute with a nasty scar across a badly healed broken nose said, and continued to advance aggressively.
His smaller, wiry companion gave a nervous sort of chuckle, glancing around the entry way as if the Batman himself could spring out of the shadows at any moment. “It’s just like you said, Carlo! The bat’s left his nest all for-!”
“Shut it, Frankie!” Carlo barked, turning with a violent motion towards his lackey, causing the weaselly man to flinch away. “Way to announce to everyone why we’re here.”
Ah. So these two clowns had somehow arrived at the conclusion that Bruce Wayne was in fact moonlighting as the Batman. He moved his hand back down from where he’d been starting to reach for his weapon.
It would be important to work out how this security breach had happened. “Well, I see you gentlemen aren’t easily fooled,” Alfred said. “Since you’ve already made yourselves at home, do you prefer tea or coffee?”
Carlo’s grin widened nastily, showing off yellowed, jagged cuspids, and even a few places where his teeth were missing altogether. “Sure Jeeves, why don’t you lead the way!”
Alfred led them to the Manor’s kitchen not bothering to hide his disgust at the amount of dirt they were leaving behind on the nice Persian rugs.
The brutes only laughed more at his discomfort.
They reached the kitchen and Alfred calmly invited them to sit at the bar as he went to work setting the coffee maker to brew. It had been set up to turn on automatically in the morning so he could bring Bruce a cup the moment the man woke up. All he had to do was push a few buttons to start it.
“You’re a good butler, so you must know it ain’t nothing personal,” Carlo said. “Side’s that skinflint Wayne probably doesn’t pay you enough.”
“Oh, he most certainly does not,” Alfred said without looking up from gathering a few coffee fixings onto the counter.
“We might be doin’ yez a favor then!” Frankie said. “See! Carlo woke up this morning and-!”
“You’re already telling it wrong, Frankie!” Carlo snapped.
“But I barely-!” Frankie started to protest but Carlo leaned towards him and the weaselly thug went silent.
“So I wakes up this morning,” Carlo said. “And I sez to myself, only one guy in Gotham has the kind of dough to buy all the gadgets and gizmos the bat always has, and he always shows up at about ten o’clock.”
“So I says we should go-!”
“Shut it, Frankie!” Carlo roared. “I’m telling it!”
“Sorry boss…” Frankie simpered. “But I was the one who-”
“So… I says to Frankie,” Carlo continued. “We should go to Wayne Manor and surprise the bat when he gets back aaaalllll tired from a night of do-gooding. Maybe we’ll even get lucky and he’ll have gone a few rounds with the clown!"
Alfred fixed their coffees for them, wincing at the way they slurped at the drinks. “It was very clever of you to have worked it out that Bruce Wayne is the Batman,” he said. “Have any of your other… friends come to this conclusion or were you the first?”
Carlo’s grin widened, the hysterical light in his eyes gleaming brighter. “It was aaaalll me!” he bragged, earning a glower from his simpering toadie. “I did what not even the clown prince could pull off! Once I bag the Bat. I’m thinking maybe I will be the boss this time!”
“Bold of you to assume you’ll get further than the kitchen, Carlo Sanchez,” Alfred said, knowing it was now safe to lay his cards on the table. “It was very unfortunate that you should come upon me while I was alone.”
Carlo took another deep swig from his drink, wiping his mouth on the bare skin of his arm. His gaze sharpened with a look of confused suspicion.
Frankie looked similarly spooked. “Boss did you tell him…?”
“I never said my full name,” Carlo growled.
“As the majordomo to the illustrious Batman, did you really come here thinking I wouldn’t know who you were?” Alfred said, the same bland expression on his face he’d used greeting them at the door. “Carlo Sanchez and Franklin Miller.”
The two thugs glanced at each other in surprise and fear.
Alfred continued before they could speak. “You two are repeat offenders in signing up to be henchmen for Penguin, Two-face, The Riddler and the Joker himself amongst others. Batman has apprehended you several times, turning you over to the justice system for a chance to turn your lives around. In fact, you have both been guests at several halfway houses funded by Bruce Wayne. My son has given you every chance possible to find honest work and live meaningful lives, but you’ve instead turned back to crime every chance you got!”
The two thugs stared at the suddenly enraged butler, mouths hanging open in surprise and not a small amount of horror. Carlo started to make a motion like he wanted to speak, but Alfred was not finished.
“I also happen to know that the two of you are responsible for many of my son’s scars! He has come home from altercations with the two of you bruised and bloodied!” Alfred hissed. “And on one memorable occasion, I had to remove a serrated knife from his leg, while he choked on his own screams of agony! Despite this, he repeatedly left you alive! Now you’ve come to attack him in the safety of his own home!”
Carlo swallowed nervously. He remembered that time with the knife, and the incredible satisfaction that had come with plunging it home in the meat of the dark knight's thigh. The wound could have been fatal that night. It had slowed him down drastically. He leaned back from the butler holding his hands out in a defensive manner, but then he remembered he was a thug in the middle of a home invasion. “Guess it was a mistake not to beat you down, too old man,” he said, getting up slowly.
Frankie still looked nervous and rattled. “Gee boss, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” he said.
“What’s he gonna do, Frankie?” Carlo said. “He’s just a little old m-.” The thug faltered, stumbling to the side dizzily as he put a hand to his head, the other coming up to hold his stomach.
“Boss?” Frankie said, moving to stand only to find his balance gone.
“That would be the cyanide catching up to you,” Alfred said matter of factly.
Their eyes went wide with horror.
“But!” Carlo choked. “The Batman doesn’t kill!”
“Yeah, his no kill rule!” Frankie whined.
Alfred leaned forward. “I assure you,” he said with quiet menace. “I ascribe to no such niceties.”
The two thugs sank slowly to the floor, gurgling in hopeless panic until at last they lost consciousness. Their hearts would stop beating soon. That would be the last of Carlo and Frankie.
The butler shook his head in disgust. If patrol went well, his bats would be back at around one or two in the morning. That left him only an hour or two to dispose of the evidence. He took the partially finished coffees and rinsed them down the drain leaving the two white mugs to soak in a bleach solution that would detoxify anything left on the ceramic.
Taking the thugs by one wrist each, he started the odious task of dragging them down the stairs to the basement of the manor which was the only way to access the cleverly hidden industrial sized elevator. It would be faster and easier than dragging them through the clock entrance in the study. It still took more time than Alfred would like, and he was huffing and puffing by the time he reached the elevator.
“I am getting too old for this,” Alfred muttered, as he mopped his brow with a kerchief on the way down to the cave.
As luck would have it. The industrial incinerator Bruce kept to destroy dangerous weapons and artifacts was still hot. No one would be asking why it had been run randomly. It was easy to get the smaller corpse in, but Carlo had certainly not been lacking for sustenance in life. Alfred would never admit to swearing as he staggered under the dead man’s weight, and struggled to shove him through the opening. He was beginning to fear he’d have to do them one at a time, but at last, Carlo’s fat rolls gave way and Alfred was able to shove the metal door closed.
With the press of a few buttons, and a key turn, the incinerator roared to life. By the time it had done a full cycle, there wouldn’t even be bone fragments left. Nodding in satisfaction, Alfred left the machine to do its thing and went back up stairs.
Starting with the front walkway outside, Alfred searched the grounds to make sure the thugs hadn’t left any traces of themselves behind and went as far as erasing their footprints from the gravel path. There were dirt clods on the porch from their boots and he took a moment to sweep it off into the garden.
By that time, Alfred was certain that the coffee mugs he’d used were now safe to put back into circulation and he set them in the dishwasher. After a moment's hesitation he decided to run it even though it was mostly empty, but he added a cup of vinegar to clean the machine as well. It was about time anyway. No need to have Bruce wondering about two dirty mugs either.
“My word,” Alfred said quietly. Perhaps his son’s paranoia was rubbing off onto him after all.
He spent some time dusting and straightening up the furniture, being sure to use a Clorox wipe on the front door knob and all the surfaces the two invaders might have touched.
It was about half past twelve when the dishwasher finished. Alfred put the dishes away, being sure to put the still warm mugs in the back, and took a moment to reset the coffee maker for the morning. The incinerator had finished as well and he was able to turn it off, leaving it ready for its next use. His family would be returning soon and he remembered that he still needed to vacuum the hall rugs. He’d gotten a bit off track making sure the incinerator was done.
Alfred was just finishing the last rug when Bruce, now dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, leaned around the corner to look into the front hall.
“Alfred?” Bruce asked. “Vacuuming at this hour? You’re not stress cleaning again are you?”
Alfred shut the vacuum off and leaned down to bundle the chord back up neatly. “You know how I worry when you’re out on patrol,” he said, putting the machine away in the hall closet. “I simply could not retire this evening.”
Bruce smiled and Alfred was glad to see his son in such good spirits, even if he did look worn out.
“Come on, Alfred,” Bruce said, holding out a hand. “We’re all home and there are barely any bumps and bruises this time. The kids are already getting into the cookies. Come join us! You know you’ve earned it after all the hard work you do!”
Alfred could easily see that Bruce just wanted all of his family around him, even if he couldn’t communicate that directly. He allowed himself a rare smile and welcomed his son’s arm around his shoulders.
“You’re damn right I’ve earned it,” Alfred said quietly and smirked at Bruce’s amused shock.
“Language!” Bruce chided him just as quietly.
“No one will ever believe you,” Alfred said as they drew closer to the noisy chaos the kids had cooked up.
Sometime later…
“You know, Alfred,” Bruce said hesitantly as he geared up for patrol. “I worry about leaving you here alone sometimes. The manor isn’t that far from the city limits. It’s not that uncommon for burglars to target rich houses.”
Alfred stepped closer to his son to assist him with a bracer that was being stubborn. “I know dear boy,” he said. “But you must remember that I was first in the RAF and then served time in the Queen’s secret service. I may be old, but I can assure you sir…”
He leaned in close. “Even you would never find the bodies.”