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Alfred had punched an attempted kidnapper.
But “no good deed goes unpunished” he thought, as he stared at the officer who had arrested him for defending his charges. (He didn’t understand why, the man would make a full recovery, which was more than he deserved.)
The cop slammed his hands down on the table to try and make Alfred flinch. Alfred’s lack of reaction made his lip curl in disgust.
“I’ll ask you again; why did you have two kids with you who ain’t yours?”
“Young Master Bruce is my ward. I was given care of him after his parents were killed. Young Mister Clark is visiting from out of town. I was in loco parentis as his mother is currently resting at the manor. The trip from Kanas is tiring for her. ”Alfred explained curtly, no less calm for having explained several times.
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The two cops looked at each other, then at the kids.
“So, why do you think he picked up the second one?”
The other cop shrugged and ran his hand though his greasy hair, knocking a few lice free. “Insurance? Case the first one kicks the bucket?”
“eh…” the first cop started picking his teeth “how much do ya think we could get for ‘em?”
Clark glared at the cops with all the anger and spite he could muster. Bruce… his eyes were open, but no one was home, even as he clung to Clarks t-shirt so tightly Clark could hear the fabric tearing.
“Probably quite a bit. I know that people wanted a shot at missus Wayne for her charity stuff.”
“So, which ones the Wayne brat?” tooth picker asked.
“Does it matter?” greasy shrugged and scratched a few bedbugs off his neck “They both got blue eyes and black hair. Boys that age all look ‘bout the same anyway.”
“You grab the one in the t-shirt, I’ll grab the one in the sweater?”
Greasy nodded and they started to approach the kids.
Clark hissed at them, clinging tighter to Bruce.
Tooth picker snorted “What this kid think he is? A cat?”
Greasy blinked. Something was wrong.
The cop grabbed Bruce by his sweater and started to pull. He started to make a high-pitched whinging noise, that made greasy uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t put into words.
T-shirt kid snarled and sank his teeth into the cop’s wrist.
For a singular, infinitesimal moment, everything was still.
Then the cop started to scream.
Clark was still snarling, as he snapped his head to the side. His teeth cut through flesh like a knife through butter, bone with no more effort than a candy’s sugar-shell.
The cop stumbled back, staring at the perfect half circle missing from his arm. His friend grabbed him and swung him around, pushing him out of the holding cell.
Clark instinctively chewed on the mouthful of flesh for a few seconds, then spat out the mangled mess, blood coating his lower jaw and dripping down, staining his shirt in a macabre work of art.
For a few minutes they were left alone. Clark tried desperately to help Bruce, but he didn’t know what to do, what was happening. All he could do was let Bruce cling to him. He tried to make soothing coos, but he was too scared, his body wouldn’t let him.
The door opened, and several cops filled in. Clark couldn’t read their expressions, but their eyes were hard.
One of them cracked his knuckles, another bounced on the balls of his feet.
“Freak.” One if them snarled, then stomped toward Clark and Bruce. Clark hissed at them desperately trying to scare them off.
The cop kicked Clark in the ribs.
Calrk gasped in pain, but tried to turn his back to the cops, to shield Bruce with his body. Bruce… had gotten worse. He wasn’t clinging anymore, he was limp against Clark, silent, barely even seeming to breath.
Clark couldn’t stop his fearful clicks as the cops rained down blows on him.
They couldn’t do any real damage to him, but he had to protect Bruce.
The door slammed open.
“What the hell are you doing?!” lieutenant Gordan shouted at officers, who flinched, and some even had the gall to look ashamed.
“Why the hell are you beating on a kid!”
One of the officers pointed at Bruce and Clark, like a misbehaving child “He nearly bit Charlie’s hand off!”
“That ain’t no reason to beat on a kid!” Gordan took a breath and bit out from between clenched teeth. “Report to my office and stay there until I arrive.”
The officers filled out, looking more like berated children than officers of the law.
Gordon tried to get closer, but Clark hissed at him, snapping at the air.
“Fuck off!” Clark yelled “Police are the reason Memaw Joseph walks with a limp!” Clark started hissing again and Bruce blinked slowly.
Gordon stepped back and waved Alfred in. Clark’s hissing stopped, but his shoulders didn’t come down, still ready to fight or flee.
Bruce blinked at the sound of Alfred’s footsteps and slowly, slowly turned his head to look at him.
Alfred went down on one knee, extending a hand to Clark.
“All is well Young Mister Clark. Gordon is a friend; he will not harm Bruce.”
Clark managed to stop hissing, but he still glared at Gordon.
“May I take Bruce?” Alfred asked, holding out his hands.
Clark stood, carefully handing off Bruce to Alfred. “Bruce is awake… but he’s not here, Alfred.”
Alfred nodded, as he carefully readjusted his hold on his ward. Bruce blinked slowly at him, and his limp hand slowly reached up and grabbed Alfred’s shirt in a death grip.
“Your free to go,” Gordon handed the clipboard he had been writing on to a secretary “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Pennyworth.”
“Alfred is fine, Gordon.”
“Still…” Gordon rubbed the back of his neck “This never should ‘a happened. Are the kids alright?”
Alfred sighed. Clark was glued to his side, and Bruce was still lost in his own mind. “Clark, are you unharmed?”
Clark shrugged “I’ll bruise. Nothing’s broken.”
“The blood is not yours then?”
He smiled, showing off his blood-stained teeth.
“Ah, understood.”
Gordon led them out to ensure that nothing would happen on their way out. Someone had just finished towing their car over as well, so that was perfect timing.
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After Gordon had gone up one side and down the other of his officers, he was reading the medical report of the cop that got injured.
The kid… he’d bitten straight through the bone.
The doctor noted that it was ‘the cleanest cut’ he had ever seen. Of course, the mans hand wasn’t salvageable- half the tendons and blood vessels had been bit through.
Gordon put the report down on his desk and buried his face in his hands