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“He’s so small.”
“Yes, Master Bruce. Children do tend to be.”
“And young. He’s so young.” Bruce chokes on his words. “His parents just died and he’s so young.”
He doesn’t realize until he feels the cool air hit the tear on his cheek that he’s crying. “He’s so small, Alfred. He’s too small for something like this to have— for him to have—“
“Oh. Master Bruce.”
“Was I that small?”
“Yes, you were, my boy.” Alfred pulls Bruce into his arms, a rare sign of physical affection from the man, and Bruce crumbles into the touch.
“I didn’t realize. I didn’t realize how small I was. That’s too small.”
“I know. I know, dear boy. You were. You both were.”