A/N So, in light of me discovering Batman Incorporated #8, and the death of me beloved Damian Wayne, I've decided to take my own spin on things at how I think they would react and (maybe) come together to pull through it. Reviews and Feedback are plenty welcome!

A loud scream rippled through the empty hallways of Wayne Manor, a gut wrenching sob followed it.
Alfred Pennyworth rose from his slumber, sweat dripping from his face, the scream ripping him from sleep.
The older man tore the sheets off him. Stepping into his slippers, he draped his house coat over his frail frame, before rushing out into the cold hallway.

"Master Bruce?", he called, trying his best to follow the loud wails.

He walked to the main hall, nothing.
The foyer, nothing.

"Master Richard? Master Damian?"

He called again, frantic for a response.
After calling out for Damian, whoever it was let out another wild scream. There was sounds of a struggle, followed by more sobbing.
Alfred stopped for a brief moment, reaching behind an umbrella stand for a well concealed crow bar. He didn't know what was happening, but it sounded awful.
He thought, for a quick moment, about calling Bruce, or using his emergency signal to contact someone, but when he traced the wails coming from in the walls, and further down into the Cave, he knew it wouldn't be nessecary.

The ride down seemed longer than usual. He had been up and down a thousand times, but none had ever taken this long. Did he press a wrong button? He wondered.
As he awaited his destination, thoughts raced through his mind;
Something had gone wrong on patrol, it must have.
Was someone hurt?
No, he would have been warned of that, he always was.
Was the fight brought home?
Was Master Damian in trouble for running out?
It was Alfred's fault for letting him out, he knew that, that mess would be cleared up in no time.
Was Master Damian fighting with Timothy again?

The elevator came to a halt, a lump setting in Alfred's stomach.
There was a sharp 'ding', and the silver doors parted, opening up the Bat Cave to the Butler.
What he saw next was something he wasn't prepared for.
Dick, still dressed in his Nightwing uniform with his mask thrown to the side, was the one in hysterics, stumbling about the cave, throwing what he could touch, and often falling and letting out a loud scream, his hands grabbing fist fulls of his hair.

Bruce tried to keep up with him, tears streaking his face, his cowl, also thrown to the side.
Off to the right, where the medical station was set up, a small figure laid upon the gurney with the standard white blanket laid over it. The majority of the white blanket was stained red, and though Alfred stared at the blanket intently, waiting for the presumed chest to rise and fall...but it never did.
Stepping out of the elevator, his legs weighing more with every movement forward, Alfred made his way into the horrifying scene.

He scanned the cave for the younger Wayne, but he wasn't to be found. Time slowed, and he was suddenly very concious of his breathing and blinking.

"I-I'm sorry,", Alfred cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the two hysterical men, "B-But where is M-Master Damian?"

Deep inside, he knew the answer, his voice quivered, threatning to break. But he had to know, he needed to know.
Bruce looked up at the old man, his eyes swollen from crying.

"I'm so sorry Alfred,", he choked, "I'm so sorry."

Dick let out another wail, and Alfred fell to his knees, the crowbar clattering to the floor. He slowly moved his eyes over to the blanketed corpse, and an ugly sob managed to escape before he could clasp his hand over his mouth. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and his thoughts became hazed.
This was a joke, surely it had to be, yes, a sick sick joke. But Dicks wails proved otherwise.
It was true.

Damian Wayne was dead.

A/N ;-; Poor Dick :c Please review.