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Alfred runs a tight ship around Wayne manor. Keeping it clean and tidy is his pride and joy. One would say it is what helps him keep his sanity, especially being the butler to a man who dresses up as a bat at nightfall.
Alfred comes down to the batcave in the middle of one night. He inspects Bruce's arsenal of gadgets. It was time to pursue his routine of restocking the utility belt, maintaining the car, and dusting the computer. "Oh, Master Bruce. You shouldn't put such things together." Alfred sighs as he finds the pocket in the utility belt for flash-bang grenades stuffed with receipts for coffee.
After wiping down the weapons display, he pauses in front of one glass case. A tattered Robin suit hangs up in the center.
Burnt,
ripped,
damaged.
The name plaque haunts the minds and hearts of the two who live there.
A good soldier.
Alfred catches Bruce staring at the glass case in silence some nights. Other nights he would ignore it altogether. One time, he was shocked to see his master drunk and crying loudly. Bruce wasn't one to drink irresponsibly, thus it hurt Alfred even more to see the lad in such a state. Beer bottles scattered on the floor, a couple on the bat computer. One sits atop the glass case like he toasted with the previous owner of the suit.
Back in the present day, Bruce gears up to go out on patrol. He pulls on his cowl and suddenly stops in his tracks. He made the mistake of facing the glass case where the tattered Robin suit displays.
Like a constant reminder, mocking him over and over. You weren't fast enough.
"Sir, should I get rid of it?"
silence for a moment.
"No. It doesn't change anything."
The engine of the batmobile roars and he was gone again.