Those Who Fall Down the Rabbit Hole | Batjokes |

Continuation of Part 3

Alfred Pennyworth is not a very emotional man.

Nor is he very expressive. He might have his moments, but overall he keeps to himself, only talking when it is appropriate. He's not too big on feelings, never was, but he knows when it is required to talk about them. At least, now he knows.

A soldier that returns from war never really returns, a part of him is forever lost. Alfred is no different, part of him is out there on the battle field, perhaps still fighting. And the part that remains is a part that is never the same. It needs work. It always does. And Alfred, being the self sufficient man that he is, thought he managed that aspect of war really well. He didn't lose himself, like he's seen so many do, he's still here. He even found a good place along the way with the Waynes. And when tragedy struck he was there to pick up the pieces, to pick up Bruce.

He thought he managed it well.

That was until he realized that a child who's lost his parents needs more than a butler. But by the time he had, it was too late. Bruce had grown up, and done so alone— even though Alfred had been there.

He loves Bruce as though he was his own. But even then, Alfred isn't blind. He might've been emotionally lacking in the past, but he was observant. Every meal Bruce rejected, every tear he shed, Alfred had been there to see it. Alfred knows Bruce, knows him like he does the palm of his hand.

He knows he's incredibly caring, and righteous. He knows he's immensely brave and smart. But he knows that kid in the park hadn't fall down the stairs, and that the squirrel he'd found by the bushes hadn't died of natural causes.

Alfred knows Bruce.

Sometimes he thinks that maybe it was his fault. That maybe if he'd hugged him more, if he had called him Bruce instead of Master, maybe things would be different. But Alfred's old, and he knows there are things that cannot be stopped, that there are things that just are.

Alfred loves Bruce.

Lately Master Bruce has been tired. He hasn't said so, but it is evident in the dark circles underneath his eyes and the far away look he occasionally gets. Alfred has a suspicion the nightmares have returned. He wouldn't be surprised, with the madman going about and the pressure from the public demanding Batman to reveal his identity. And Miss Dawes. Yes, Alfred's fairly sure the nightmares have returned.

When Harvey Dent announced that he was Batman on the press conference a few days ago, Alfred had been relieved. He knows he shouldn't have been, but he wouldn't be able to bear seeing Bruce in handcuffs. However, Alfred knows all the problems this is bringing to Bruce— Miss Dawes resenting him for letting Mister Dent take his place and Bruce's own self-guilt for not having stepped up himself.

Because Alfred knows the nightmares have returned, and because Bruce is too hardheaded to ask for assistance, Alfred has being hovering around Bruce's bedroom at night. Cleaning this and that, waiting for a signal that the Master needs help. It's been three nights since he started, and nothing has happened, no sign of distress or struggle. The only thing Alfred needs is one opportunity to go in the room and let Bruce know that it is okay, that if he needs assistance Alfred is there. But nothing has happened.

Until it does.

Out in the hall, where he is cleaning a vase for what must be the tenth time in the last three nights, a cry takes his attention away from his duties. Immediately, Alfred drops the rag on the floor and hurries to Master Bruce's bedroom at the end of the hallway. As he enters the room, he notices that the lights are on, something Bruce didn't stop doing until he was seventeen, and started doing when his parents had died. On the King's size bed, a startled Bruce sits. Hand entangled in his messy hair as he pants. His eyes are fixated on the white wall at the opposite end of his bed, but he's not really seeing it. He has that far away look again. He's scared.