Alright, this is like, set when Bruce and Richard were both younger. I'm going to guess that Richard was roughly 8 or 9 when this story takes place, so bear with me here.
Broken Bottles
Richard got up from his bed, the small short sleeved shirt he was wearing providing little to no warmth to him. And worst of all; he couldn't sleep. His comforter and sheets were ice cold to him and his pillows were too warm. The second his pale feet touched to the wooden floors, a shiver ran down his spine. The whole house seemed to be cold. As Richard stood in the doorway of his room, he realized that he didn't know where he was going.
I could just keep walking… maybe I'll get somewhere? No, I want to be here. Maybe I'll… I'll just go downstairs and get something to eat… that might help…
He crept down the staircase as silent as he could, unable to shake off his goosebumps. It was very dark in the Wayne Manor and the only light on this late at night was that provided by the crescent moon. He couldn't see more than a foot in front of him, but as long as he kept creeping slowly, he didn't worry much about what he could see. He was more worried about freezing to death at the moment then of crashing into something in the dark. He rubbed his cold arms, trying to stop the shivers when he froze, non literal, on the floor, staring ahead.
There was a faint light on in the kitchen and he could hear the soft tinkling of glass as it moved about on the table. Richard hesitated before slowly continuing on his way to the kitchen. Once inside the kitchen, he again felt his feet glue to the floor and his heart stopped for a second in his chest. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"B-Bruce?" he whispered in shock, his voice weak and frail.
The kind man who had been at his parents' funeral with open arms and a shoulder to cry on was now hunched over the kitchen table, over a dozen amber bottles surrounding him. He clumsily brought another one to his lips and missed, splashing his shirt with its content which was a dark colored liquid. Angry, Bruce set the bottle down again and attempted to wipe the liquid from his chin. His hand missed though and he sat there for a moment, totally oblivious to the little boy watching him. A foreign anger bubbled up inside of Richard at the sight of his 'savior' getting drunk late at night almost unbeknownst to him.
"Bruce!" the scared little brunette called, one arm wrapped around his stomach in an attempt to keep warm.
Bruce must've heard the voice, for her turned his head around slowly, one eyebrow raised, that eye barely open. His lips were parted and saliva made his lips sparkle in the dim kitchen light. He blinked and stared at Richard for a long time. He didn't seem to recognize him though, for he turned his attention back to the countless bottles of beer on the kitchen, bringing his most recent one to his lips again, this time actually managing to get it to his lips.
Angry tears burnt heavily in Richard's blue eyes and his shoulders began to shake gently. The man who was supposed to be serving as his father while his real father rotted beneath the earth in a casket wearing his best outfit beside his mother was sitting at the kitchen table getting drunk. Richard couldn't stand that. He had put his faith into this man. He had actually thought that Bruce would be able to take care of him because he had lost his parents too. But no; Bruce just continued to drink from the amber glass, its content sloshing lazily to-and-fro inside of the bottle.
He averted his eyes and tried to ignore this act as he walked over to refrigerator and opened it shyly, peering over its shelves in distaste. There were countless amounts of delicious looking food in the refrigerator, including the apple tart that Alfred had cooked up a few hours prior, but none of the food would register to the blue eyed boy. His focus was on the man getting wasted behind him. For a boy of nine, Richard knew much more than he should about adults, so he knew that drinking a lot was a way to either have a good time or to forget something, but he still couldn't handle it.
The last time he had seen someone drinking, it had been his father after him and Richard's mom had gotten into a big fight. The next morning, they loved each other again, but Richard couldn't get the look of desperation and anger in his father's eyes out of his head. Bruce had had that exact look in his eyes, whether he liked it or not. Just the thought caused Richard close the refrigerator door forcefully. He turned around slowly and continued to watch Bruce spill beer over himself and not seem to care. Richard felt himself slowly begin to crack.
"B-Bruce… please stop," he said forcefully, courageously taking a step forward.
Bruce picked up an empty bottle weakly, staring hard at Richard.
"I-I… dunno you," Bruce slurred, collapsing onto his arm for a moment before lifting the empty bottle and dropping it off the side of the counter, as if he had tried to hit the nine year old and missed by two feet.
The bottle shattered across the ground, amber shards scattering across the ground and some ricocheting into his bare and exposed legs. He let out a weak scream and dropped to his knees, pulling the shards swiftly from his legs, finally having snapped. Bruce seemed startle by the scream, but he ignored it and took another swig from his full bottle, showering his five o'clock shadow with alcohol. Richard leapt to his feet, his legs now bleeding with rage written clearly on his face. With a swift sweep of his arms, Richard sent all of the amber bottles to the floor where they all shattered dangerously, their shards scattering and ringing throughout the kitchen. The noise caused Bruce to jump in surprise. With a loss of motor controls, he fell from the kitchen stool and collapsed to the ground where he laid still, the beer bottle still in his hand.
"Stop!" Richard screamed, clutching his ears angrily. "Put it down!"
He looked blankly up at Richard, a slight wince still hidden on his face. Not paying much mind to the brunette, he turned the amber bottle towards his lips, only to have it kicked from his hand where it shattered against the white of the kitchen wall, more glass joining the colorful show that was already there.
"That was…" Bruce paused and set a hand to his mouth as if he was about to puke, but he didn't. "That… w's m…ine…"
"No! You aren't supposed to be drinking! You're supposed to be watching me and making sure I don't die! You're supposed to be acting like my father!" the boy sobbed, his shoulders shaking violently.
"Master Richard? Master Bruce? Am I interrupting something?" a gentle voice asked from the doorway.
Blinking away tears, Richard looked up to see Alfred standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Glad to see it was only Richard, he let his tears fall angrily. Bruce blinked slowly before finally recognizing Alfred.
"All…fred? Thers… uh… stray… stranger in th-…" he stopped and his head fell to the side, his breathing becoming deep and heavy.
Alfred sighed in annoyance.
"I'm sorry Master Richard. You should've have had to see this," Alfred apologized, crossing the kitchen towards the pantry from which he pulled a broom and a dust pan.
Richard watched the butler sweep up the beer bottle shards, masking his anger gently.
"I-I'm sorry too," Richard choked out, scrubbing at his eyes. "I knocked the bottles to the floor… 'cause I was angry…"
Alfred looked up at Richard and smiled gently.
"In my long history with Master Bruce, I've wanted to do the exact same when he's… like this," Alfred confessed, grinning cheesily. "You still shouldn't have been up to see this. Is something troubling you?"
Richard raised an eyebrow at Alfred's grin. It warmed his heart though so he managed a real smile.
"I uh… I couldn't sleep," he admitted, setting a hand on his neck.
He glanced down at Bruce's unconscious body and felt guilty already. How would he explain the next morning to his 'father' why there was an amber stain on the white kitchen wall?
"Bad dreams?" Alfred probed, depositing the amber shards into the trashcan.
Richard hesitated.
Bad dreams…? Oh! For the reason why I couldn't sleep!
"I uh… no… it's too… um…" he let his voice trail.
He didn't want to offend the older butler by calling the house too cold, nor did he want to bother the man by asking him to turn up the heat.
"Cold?" Alfred offered.
Richard flinched.
"I keep telling Master Bruce to let me turn up the heat so you don't freeze, but he insists that it has to be cold. He's asleep though, so it won't hurt him if I turn up the heat a little," Alfred smiled slyly.
Richard smiled in disbelief.
"For an old man, you're pretty cool," he blurted out, before he could control himself.
He quickly covered his mouth with his hands. Alfred's eyes widened, but he didn't look mad. Instead, he chuckled gently.
"An old man? That's a first," he thought about it and nodded. "I like it. It's better than being called a butler."
Richard lowered his hands from his mouth. Maybe living with Bruce wouldn't be so bad, as long as Alfred lived as long as he had to live there. Richard watched as the gray haired butler put away the broom and dustpan before heading over to the refrigerator.
"Have a seat at the table, Master Richard," Alfred insisted, pulling his apple tart from the refrigerator and popping it in the microwave so it could heat up.
Richard shyly nodded and pulled up a chair, easing into it and watching the butler.
"W-What about Bruce?" Richard asked, his eyes on the unconscious man.
"I don't know about you, but Master Bruce seems to be asleep right now and he hates it when I disturb his slumber," Alfred smiled to himself, pouring a glass of milk for the ward of his 'Master' so to speak.
"Thanks," Richard muttered as the microwave went off.
Alfred took the apple tart from the plate and set it in front of Richard, a fork beside it.
"You worry about eating," Alfred suggested, "and I'll warm the place up and move Master Bruce back to his room."
Richard nodded and hungrily began to devour the apple tart. Alfred watched the boy with a slight smile.
He is so much like Bruce… I can see him working as a sidekick. I should mention it to Bruce tomorrow morning… and I should prepare some jasmine tea with a lime. He's going to have quite the hangover tomorrow!
Just as Alfred was about to exit the kitchen, he heard a little squeak and he stopped, turning around. Richard hurried to swallow his mouthful of apple tart before speaking.
"Thank you Alfred… for everything," he said warmly.
Alfred nodded. "That's what I'm here for."
"No, I mean it!" Richard insisted, a smile brightly illuminating from his face. "Thank you, really!"
Alfred nodded. "I know, Master Richard."
Alfred went down the hall to adjust the temperature when he heard a soft voice call out.
"I prefer Dick," Richard's voice wafted through the air.
Alfred raised an eyebrow, raising the temperature on the thermostat before walking back into the kitchen.
"Good night, Master D-," he began, stooping down to drag Bruce back to his own room.
"Just Dick," Richard corrected quickly.
Alfred shrugged.
"Good night Dick," he said again, easing Bruce's weak body past the beer stain on the wall.
"Good night Alfred," Dick called gently and settled down to finish the apple tart.
Alfred's pretty nice… I just wish Bruce was…
The blue eyed boy's eyes flickered to the trash can, amber glistening in the faint light still. Thirty minutes prior were a blur to him now, the broken bottles from his mind now. All he knew was that now he felt like he might actually fit in here, until he found somewhere else to go.
Crappy ending, I don't care. Review?