Chapter Text
Alfred picked up the ivory porcelain cup with yellow daisies painstakingly painted on the sides, inhaling the refreshing steam wafting from the contents. He sipped the tea, tasting the delicate flavors of the leaves and adornments. Alfred set his cup down on its saucer and then picked up a chocolate digestive, imported from the motherland at a prohibitive cost that the young master (not so young anymore, he had to admit to himself) had never once complained about absorbing. He bit into the biscuit and then set it down on his saucer. Alfred picked up L. P. Hartley’s The Go-Between and turned to the first page.
“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there,” he read aloud to himself, marveling at how aptly the words managed to convey such a complex and universal feeling. Alfred moved his eyes to the next sentence, just in time to have his concentration broken by a ringing telephone. It was a rarer and rarer occurrence for the manor’s landline to ring, with the rising popularity of cellular devices. More often than not, the callers were telemarketers, and Master Bruce had raised the possibility of disconnecting the line altogether, an idea that appalled Alfred’s sensibilities. The interruption of his evening novel had him reconsidering his position.
Alfred sighed as he set down his book. He stood up and then walked over to the handset. Alfred picked up the phone. "Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking. Mr. Wayne is retired for the evening, but I can take a message for him if you desire."
There was a brief silence at the other end of the line. Alfred wondered if a telemarketer was debating whether to bother with him. A familiar voice, one Alfred hadn't heard in years, spoke through the line. "Alfred? Can you come pick me up?"
Alfred's jaw swung open. He stared at the handset. "Master Bruce?" Alfred felt silly even saying the words. It had been over a decade since Bruce had sounded like that.
"I don't know where I am," Bruce said. "I don't remember how I got here. There's- there's a baby here. I don't know who he is or where he came from."
Alfred's mind started racing. A hundred possibilities rushed to his head, and he pushed them all to the side. There was no time for speculation. Alfred needed to act.
"Master Bruce, do you see any familiar landmarks?"
"No," Bruce said. "I can walk to the end of the street and read the road signs. I- I should bring the kid with me, right? I shouldn't leave him alone."
"Absolutely," Alfred agreed. He had a sneaking suspicion who the child might be. "Don't let him out of your sight."
"Okay," Bruce agreed. Alfred heard Bruce's voice get fainter, as if he was no longer speaking into the phone. "Um… I'm gonna pick you up now, okay? I'll just uh… I'll wrap you in this so you aren't so exposed."
"Is everything alright, Master Bruce?"
"Yeah, I mean, no, not really, but yeah. I'm taking the kid with me down to the end of the street. He didn't have any clothes. I mean, he was sitting in some weird clothes, but they were way too big for him. I'm wearing something weird too. It's heavy. Alfred, what happened to me?"
"I don't know, Master Bruce," Alfred admitted. "Are you calling from a cell phone or a payphone?"
"A cell phone," Bruce said. "It wanted a password, but it let me make an emergency call without the password."
"Very good Sir," Alfred said. "I am going to hang up and call you from my phone, so that I can keep talking to you while getting the car."
"You have a cellphone, Alfred? Since when?"
"Don't worry about that. Make sure you answer when I call, alright Sir?"
"Okay," Bruce agreed. I'll hang up now."
Alfred was overcome with anxiety when Bruce hung up the phone. Being out of contact with Bruce for even a second when he was vulnerable was stressful. Alfred pulled out his cell phone and dialed Bruce at once. Bruce answered on the first ring.
"Alfred?"
Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. He started walking toward the garage. "I am on my way, Sir. Can you see the sign?"
"Yes," Bruce answered. He read the cross streets off to Alfred.
Alfred rushed to the garage and got into their least conspicuous vehicle, an unassuming gray sedan. Alfred kept talking to Bruce. “What do you remember, Master Bruce? Do you recall anything at all about how you arrived at your current predicament?”
“I was asleep,” Bruce said. “Maybe I still am asleep. Am I dreaming? I’ve never had a dream like this before.”
“I don’t believe that you are dreaming, Master Bruce,” Alfred assured him as he drove. Alfred was against using cellular devices while driving under normal circumstances, but his circumstances were far from normal. “How is the child? Is he in any sort of distress? Could you describe him to me?”
“I think he’s kind of cold. It’s freezing out here, Alfred. I’ve got him wrapped up in this… whatever it is. Shhhh, shhh, little… you. Alfred, please hurry.” Bruce sounded on the verge of panic, a tone his adult self never allowed himself to indulge in.
“I’m on my way,” Alfred assured him. “Can you describe the child’s general appearance? Perhaps you might begin with his hair, skin and eye color.”
“His hair is black. His skin is light. His eyes are… Hey little… person. Excuse me, hi, can I see your eyes please? They’re blue, Alfred.”
Alfred bit the inside of his cheek. The situation was far from humorous, but Bruce’s fumbling attempts to interact with a young child reminded Alfred of Dick’s first few days at the manor. Alfred was certain that the child was Master Dick and that the pair of heroes had been waylaid by some mystical spell or technological apparatus wielded by a troublesome criminal. That criminal would be a problem for the Justice League. Alfred had a single priority, and it was the safety of his young charges.
Alfred looked out the windshield at the frosty slush piled up on the side of the road from cars breaking up the ice forming on the roadway. January was a frigid month. “Do your best to keep him warm, Master Bruce. Try wrapping him in your cape as well.”
“Good idea, Alfie. Hey, I’m going to wrap you in this. Uh… Alfie, why am I wearing a cape?”
“I’m almost there, Master Bruce,” Alfred deflected.
“That’s good. Are you avoiding my question because you don’t know the answer or because you do?” Bruce had always been a clever boy. Alfred chastised himself for letting Bruce’s rediscovered youth make him forget that.
“We will talk about everything when I reach you. You’re standing by the street signs, correct?” Alfred was far surpassing the speed limit, but he deemed the possibility of Master Dick getting hypothermia a more dire risk than him getting a speeding ticket. “I will be at your location in less than a minute.”
“I think I see you. Are you in that ugly gray car?”
Alfred bit the inside of his cheek again. Bruce’s words were almost word for word Master Dick’s reaction to seeing the car for the first time. Still, it served its purpose, which was to be as unremarkable as possible. Alfred spotted a shadow standing under a street sign holding a spot of color close to his chest. Alfred pulled up next to the shadow.
Bruce was in the Batman costume, which sagged on his much thinner than normal frame. Although Master Bruce was more or less the same height at seventeen that he would be at thirty, his musculature was another thing entirely. The chest piece of the costume hung from his shoulders, and thick bunches of fabric pooled where it should have been stretched taught. The cowl hid his eyes, but it did nothing to conceal his confused and aggravated frown.
In Master Bruce’s arms, wrapped in two capes, was a child of about three. His nose was turning red from the cold, and his face was twisted into an anxious frown. He stared at Alfred with wide blue eyes as Alfred jumped out of the car to open the back for Master Bruce. Bruce was careful as he sat down to not jar the child in his arms or knock him against anything. Alfred closed the door and then got back into the front, relieved to have the children in the warmth and with him.
"Alfred," Bruce said. "We should take him to the police. His parents are probably worried about him. Captain Gordon can try to find them."
Alfred flinched. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Master Bruce."
Bruce hesitated. "Why not?"
Alfred looked into the rearview mirror. Bruce was settling Dick into the seat next to him, tucking the folds of the capes around him to keep him warm and covered. Bruce clicked the boy's seatbelt into place. Alfred was amazed that Dick wasn't fussing and trying to free himself from the restrictive fabric. He had to be freezing. Alfred turned up the heat.
Bruce looked up from his task. "Alfred?"
Alfred sighed. Dick squirmed a little bit. He moved just enough so that he could lean his head against Bruce's arm. The boy hadn't yet said a word, but that didn't mean he wasn't listening. "I promise that we will discuss everything when we arrive home."
Bruce's face transformed into a scowl intense enough to be seen from under his cowl. He opened his mouth to protest. Then he looked down at Dick. His jaw slammed shut. "Fine," he grumbled.
"Thank you, Master Bruce," Alfred said as he shifted the car back into drive and began the short journey back to the manor.
Bruce glanced at the child again. "He was moving around a lot in the beginning, but then he got quieter and more still. I think it's because of the cold. Will he be okay?"
Alfred's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "We will make sure of it, Master Bruce."
"I should have wrapped him in the second cape sooner," Bruce mumbled more to himself than Alfred. "I should have thought of it without you needing to tell me."
"None of that, Young Master," Alfred admonished in a sharp tone. "You are not to blame. I’m sure the last thing you expected when you went to sleep was to wake up in such a predicament. You reacted remarkably well, and I’m quite proud of you.”
Bruce wore a dissatisfied frown, but he didn’t argue. He looked down at the seat next to him. His frown deepened. “I wonder what his name is.”
Alfred hesitated. There was no reason not to relay that particular piece of information. “His name is Richard Grayson.”
Bruce’s head snapped up. “You know him?!”
Dick frowned and squirmed in his seat. He grabbed Bruce’s arm and buried his face in the unarmored section of uniform over Bruce’s elbow. Alfred couldn’t imagine that the chunk of bone made a comfortable pillow. Still, Dick didn’t whine or complain. “So do you,” Alfred said.
“Alfred-”
“When we get home,” Alfred cut off the impending line of questioning. “I promise sir. We’re almost there.”
Bruce scowled, but he swallowed his questions. Moments later, they were pulling into the garage. “I think some of your old things might fit Master Dick-”
“You know that means something else in America, right?” Bruce wore an amused grin on his face.
Alfred rolled his eyes. He stepped out of the car and then opened the door. Bruce unbuckled Dick and then passed him to Alfred. Alfred frowned at just how cold the young child felt. Alfred had hoped the heat in the car would have had more of an effect. “A warm bath is what the young Master needs,” Alfred said. “If you’re alright with him wearing your things-”
“Of course I am,” Bruce said, sounding offended. “He needs them. I don’t.”
Alfred smiled. His young charge had his mother’s heart, and it always warmed Alfred’s to be reminded of that fact. “I’ll go up to the attic and-”
“No,” Bruce said while shaking his head. “I’ll do it. We shouldn’t delay getting him warmer. He’s so small. He needs that hot bath now. I’m sure I can find them.”
Alfred’s smile grew. “Thank you, Master Bruce.”
Bruce shrugged. He turned and left without another word. Alfred knew they needed to talk about their current circumstances, but Dick’s physical health was the first priority. Alfred took him upstairs to a large bathroom with a huge clawfoot tub. Alfred held Dick in one arm while he began to fiddle with the water with his free hand. He tested the water as it came out, making sure it was warm but not scalding.
When the water reached a level where it would be at Dick’s shoulders when he sat down, Alfred turned off the water. Alfred unwrapped Dick from the capes and then lowered him into the water. Dick had an immediate reaction to the water. His face lit up and he raised up his small arms before slamming them into the water, splashing Alfred’s face and jacket. “How kind of you to share your bathwater with me, Master Dick,” Alfred said with a smile and a shake of his head.
Dick grinned at Alfred. His washed out complexion was beginning to warm up. He clapped his hands together on the surface of the water, creating another large splash. He giggled. “Swim!”
Alfred picked up a bottle of Johnson & Johnson and squirted some into his hand. “I wouldn’t quite qualify this as swimming, young Master.” Alfred rubbed some of the shampoo into Dick’s thick black curls. Dick giggled and tried to tilt his head back to look at Alfred. “None of that, young man; we don’t want soap getting in your eyes.”
Alfred took his hands out of Dick’s hair. Dick cupped his hands under the water and then raised the water to his head, splashing himself. “Bye-bye soap,” Dick said. He giggled again. “I’m a mumaid!” Dick fell backwards, submerging himself in the water. Dick sat back up before Alfred could yank him back up, giggling.
“You make a fine mermaid, Master Dick,” Alfred said, shaking his head and chuckling. Alfred wet a washcloth and then poured some Johnson & Johnson on it. He reached for Dick’s face, but Dick pulled back.
Dick held out his hands. “I do, pwease,” he told Alfred.
“Oh,” Alfred said. “Alright. You’re quite the little self-starter, aren’t you?” Alfred placed the washcloth in Dick’s hands. Dick scrubbed his cheeks and forehead and then splashed water on his face. He then moved on to his chest and arms. “Very good, Master Dick,” Alfred said. “I’m quite proud of you.”
Dick grinned at Alfred and then continued to scrub himself clean. He started to sing. “Rub-a-dub dub, rub-a-dub dub. Tean, tean, we are tean.” Dick looked up at Alfred. “Want to sing?”
“I don’t know the words,” Alfred demurred. “Besides, you sing so beautifully. I wouldn’t want to drown out your lovely voice.”
Dick beamed. He pulled his foot up to scrub it, but in doing so he overbalanced himself, falling backwards into the tub. Dick righted himself at once, laughing at his own mistake. Alfred worried that he might have hit his head, but Dick was too cheerful for a child who had just been whacked in the head. “Whoopsie! I’m siwy.”
Dick picked up his foot again and scrubbed it with the washcloth. He did his other foot and then held the washcloth out to Alfred. “Hewp, pwease.” Dick turned around so that his back was facing Alfred.
Alfred chuckled to himself as he washed Dick’s back. “All done,” Alfred told him.
Dick spun back around. He threw his hands in the air, splattering water everywhere. “I’m tean!”
Alfred wiped a splash of water from his face. “Yes, you are, Master Dick. Would you like to be dry as well?”
Dick frowned. “I pway?” He looked around the bathroom. “Where are toys?”
“Oh,” Alfred said. He supposed playing in the tub was part of Dick’s bathing routine as a toddler. It seemed like the Graysons had quite an efficient system. Dick washed up, being helped by his parents with the tasks he couldn’t do himself, and then he got to play. Alfred didn’t want to deny the boy his reward, especially since he had been very good, but Alfred had no toys to give him. Any toys Master Bruce had played with as a toddler were gone or packed away upstairs.
The thought made Alfred realize how long Bruce was taking. It was possible he was having trouble finding his old clothes, but Alfred kept the attic very well organized, using the same system Martha had when she was alive. He frowned with concern.
The smile slipped away from Dick’s face. “I was bad?”
Alfred jolted with surprise, almost falling off the side of the tub. “No, dear boy, of course you were not bad,” Alfred assured him. “I simply do not have any toys to give you right now. I’m sorry. I will get some for you tomorrow, I promise.”
Dick’s smile returned, blooming across his face like a springtime field. “Mommy has. Mommy! Mommy, tan I have toys?!”
Alfred flinched. “Uhh…” Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. “Your mother isn’t here right now, Dickie.”
Dick stared at Alfred with wide blue eyes. “Why?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Why indeed? Why had the world seen fit to take two pairs of loving parents away from such sweet and thoughtful children? Why had Tony Zucco decided to make an example of Haley’s? Why had the Flying Graysons been his chosen act?
“She had to go away,” Alfred said. “She and your father asked us to look out for you until… They asked us to look out for you. Do you like hot chocolate?”
Dick gasped with delight and splashed the water again. “Yesss!”
“Do you want to dry off and get dressed so I can make you some?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Alfred picked up a thick cotton towel that had managed to escape the soaking the bathroom had undergone. He used the towel to lift Dick from the tub, wrapping him up in the absorbent fabric. “Let’s see if we can find Master Bruce and those clothes, shall we?”
“I sweepy,” Dick said, resting his head against Alfred’s shoulder.
“Perhaps after the hot chocolate you might like to go to bed?”
“Yes, pwease,” Dick said. He yawned in Alfred’s face, prompting another chuckle from him. Alfred held the child close to him as he headed up to the attic.
Bruce wasn’t hard to find. He had turned all the lights on. The box of Bruce’s old things was open, Martha’s delicate handwriting visible on the side where she had written: “Bruce Preschool” in very neat letters. Bruce himself was sitting in front of a different box, with a pile of clothes in a neat pile next to him. The second box was labeled in Alfred’s handwriting as “Bruce College ” in his own neat lettering.
Bruce turned a page in the book in his lap. “Alfred,” he whispered. “What the hell ?”
“Language,” Alfred admonished. “We shan't speak thus in front of the child.”
Bruce scrambled to his feet. The book fell out of his lap. Alfred caught a glimpse of a familiar photo of a production of Hamlet. Bruce had been Horatio. Harvey Dent had played the titular protagonist.
Bruce’s face was red. “Alfred, what is going on?!”
Dick squirmed in Alfred’s grip. “Mommy,” he whimpered. “Wan my mommy.” He tugged at Alfred’s sleeve. “Mommy, pwease,” he asked the same way he had asked for help washing his back, if with a slight tinge of desperation. Alfred wished he had the same power to grant Dick’s second request.
“I’m sorry,” Alfred whispered. “She isn’t here right now.” Alfred locked eyes with Bruce, trying to convey to him how delicate the situation was, how he needed just a bit more patience. “She’s gone with Master’s Bruce’s parents.”
Alfred felt sick as he saw Bruce’s face shatter. Bruce understood what Alfred was trying to convey. Alfred just wished he could have figured out a better way to say it. Bruce took a deep, calming breath. He knelt down and picked up the stack of fabric from the floor.
Bruce walked up to Alfred and Dick. “My mom bought this for me when I was little,” Bruce said. He held up a thick blue onesie decorated with silver stars. The fabric shimmered under the lamplight. Alfred was sure it was the warmest thing from the box. “Would you like to have it?”
Dick blinked at Bruce. “I tan have?”
Bruce smiled at him, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Bruce’s eyes were full of sadness and pain. Alfred hated himself for putting those feelings there. “You can have it,” he assured the younger boy. “It’s too small for me, but it would make me very happy to see you use it to stay warm.”
Dick reached for the onesie, clutching the thick, warm material in his small fists. “Tank you,” he said in a soft voice.
Bruce held up a fluffy white blanket with a sheep's head sewed to one end, a tail sewed to the other and two little legs sewed on each side. “Would you, um, like to have this too?”
Dick grinned and giggled. “Yamb!” He made grabbing hands at the blanket. Bruce draped the fabric over the child in Alfred’s arms. “Tank you! I wove you!” Dick grabbed the sheep’s head and kissed it right between the eyes.
“Uhh… You’re welcome,” Bruce mumbled.
Dick yawned. “Sweepy,” he declared.
“Let’s get you into bed,” Alfred murmured. Alfred turned around and began to leave the attic. He watched Bruce out of the corner of his eye. Bruce picked up the book and a pile of children’s underclothes off the ground and then followed Alfred out, turning off the lights as he left.
Alfred took Dick to his room. Dick was already half asleep in Alfred’s arms, and it wasn’t difficult to get him into the pajamas and under the sheets. Dick was so drowsy that he didn’t even notice the flying Graysons poster on the wall, which was for the best. He probably wouldn’t have recognized his older self, but he was a very bright child, so they couldn’t be certain.
Dick wrapped his arms around the sheep’s head and cuddled it as the thick blanket cocooned his small body. Alfred tucked him in and then brushed several dark curls out of the child’s eyes. “Sleep well Dickie,” Alfred whispered. He straightened up and then looked at Bruce, who was staring at the room’s decoration. “This way, Master Bruce,” Alfred said in an even quieter voice.
Alfred turned off the light in Dick’s room, but he cracked the door and left the hall light on. Alfred locked eyes with Bruce. Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at Alfred. Alfred sighed. “I believe the simplest way to explain everything would be to go downstairs.”
“Why? What can you tell me in the receiving room that you can’t tell me right here?”
“I am not referring to the receiving room.” Alfred gestured for Bruce to follow him, and then he led Batman to the Batcave.