The Storms Within
Alfred gently brushed back the curls and pulled the sheets up over Dick. He smiled gently at this special young man. He'd had a bit of a rocky start to life with this imp. Dick had lived a rather bohemian, free-spirited life; whereas Alfred had always lived by a very structured, some might consider rigid, lifestyle. It had come with very clearly defined rules of etiquette and decorum. Roles in life had been assigned and were vigorously enforced. Initially there had been a culture clash between the two. Alfred had found he could bend and Dick found he could conform and fairly quickly they had fallen into a comfortable blend. Dick had become very special to Alfred. Somehow they had become each others main support system and trusted confidante. Dick was the only one Alfred had confessed his deep love for Leslie to, and Dick kept after Alfred to act on it.
Dick really was the glue that held the family together. Alfred had seriously wanted to quit. He'd left Gotham fully intending to never return. He loved Bruce but there were times when Bruce drained him. He felt Bruce was intent on a path of self-destruction and didn't really care how many he took with him down the path. No, didn't care wasn't the right phrase. The truth was more it just didn't register to him. Bruce was on a crusade like the paladins of legends, and like them, it made him single minded, focusing in only on his objective. Everything else fell to the wayside when the quest called. It hurt Alfred to be brushed aside continually, and it was exhausting to be the one to always make the proverbial excuses to irate hosts or hostesses, or to sad eyed boys who had to look out and not see in the audience the closest person to a parent they had left. He knew Bruce didn't consciously neglect his children, but that fact didn't erase the hurt feelings and, in some, resentment that occurred. He honestly felt the boys had a right at times to come before Bruce's jihad. He felt too many times Bruce was indulged and excuses made for his behavior. Alfred knew for that the guilt was on his hands.
He looked down and saw the tangible symbol of that guilt. He felt ill and also started to feel angry. He checked that Dick was resting comfortably and left the medical bay. It was an odd feeling to have just cut open his grandson, to have to see the pain on the young face, knowing that he was having to cause some of the pain in order to save him. It made him feel old, tired, and dirty. He stripped off the plastic gloves. He felt the tide of anger wash through him. He was ready to quit. He was frustrated and wanted to scream it to the world. That though would have been an unforgivable breach of proper decorum. At this moment, he even loathed himself. He had raised a proper gentleman, and a total BRAT!. He gritted his teeth as he saw all of the lair of Batman, from the computers to the cars to the damn trophy cases. There wasn't ANYTHING, not one damn thing, that smacked of Bruce Wayne, or a caring for anyone beyond himself.
Usually he could look at the cases and smile, fondly remembering each person that filled the costume. Each was special to him and each was loved, though in different ways. Alfred felt that just as all were different and shouldn't be treated equally, it would be fraudulent to love them all equally. He saw the current costume over to the side. He smiled thinking of Tim. Tim had proven to be the most intellectually minded of the boys. He'd been adept at computers, loved to study, and had also proven to be the one that Alfred had been able to successfully have join him in the kitchen to assist with cooking. Tim had a factual and analytical mind and loved to discuss current events with Alfred, especially politics, both British and American. He asked Alfred questions that kept Alfred on his toes. He seemed to want to know anything and everything about any facts. Alfred was certain that Tim could one day go onto Jeopardy and easily be a five day champion. However, if it came to emotions or philosophy, Tim had no interest and would subtly tune Alfred out. This wasn't an area that had any interest to Tim. Tim preferred to keep his world in black and white. Alfred understood and respected that. He loved Tim as a Grandfather loves a grandson.
He next saw the case with Jason's costume. Jason was the boy he loved but didn't truly understand. Jason lived and breathed in a world of instincts and emotions. It was as if he was a feral spirit living in a civilized world. Like a feral animal, he had a desire to be part of a family and be cared for, however he had a very hard time trusting anyone and kept his claws out and his guard up. Jason's mood and temperament were as changeable as the weather. Alfred had never believed before about the concept of people who ran hot and cold, until he met Jason. On a good day, Jason was fun to be around and a pleasure. On a bad day, well he found other things to do and stayed away rather then getting his head bitten off. He loved Jason but he feared Jason. He loved Jason dearly but more like a lion tamer loves his cats. He'd do anything for Jason, just as he would for Dick, or Tim, or even Damian. However, he had no doubt that given the right set of circumstances, Jason could kill him with no ounce of remorse.
He thought for a moment of Damian. There was no costume yet that was truly Damian. He prayed there never would be. Damian was to him a painting being filled in before the audience's eyes. Alfred had no clue how Damian would turn out. He would do his best but he was only a part-time influence at best. He saw signs of potential in Damian, but he also showed signs that made him fear he could be staring into the eyes of the next Hitler, or Idi Amin. He felt Damian was very shrewd and calculated every response to achieve the maximum possible benefit to himself above all others. He showed a coldness to dealing with others, an ability to cease to see them as people and only see them as obstacles. He had taken a battle axe after his brother and part of Alfred had no doubt Damian meant to kill him. Damian though could also show care and compassion for Bruce and himself. Alfred though had vowed to NEVER teach Damian to cook. He had no doubt in his mind that Damian would poison his brothers to secure his own succession. He knew to, he could see in Damian's eyes a black, cold hatred for Dick that chilled him to the bone. Tim was an annoyance but Dick was the obstacle that must be removed to secure his being the soul heir to everything. He did love Damian but he also knew one day for the sake of the others, he may have to kill him. He knew in his heart that he would kill Damian if it was needed to save Tim, and especially to save Dick.
Dick, that was his special one. Dick was close to a soul mate. Dick saw the world through beautiful kaleidoscope of colors. Dick had a very fascinating and esoteric mind. Dick would discuss politics with Alfred, but rather then going into the minutia of the facts like Tim, Dick's eyes would glow and he would become fascinated with discussing with Alfred the myriad of possible motivations. A conversation with Dick was fun for Alfred because he never knew where they would end up, it was like the old toy looking glasses, where he would turn them and the picture would constantly change. Dick also would turn the tables and ask Alfred questions about himself and how he was feeling. At first Alfred resented this intrusion on his very private world, but he had now come to like that, and look forward to the times when someone would honestly listen and care about what was going on inside of his mind. This little imp had become his confidante and soul mate. The world would be a very dark and lonely place for Alfred without this one in it. He truly had brought back sunshine and technicolor to the black, white, gray, and sepia of the Manor. He loved Dick more intensely. Dick was both his and Bruce's soul mate. The thought of him dying terrified Alfred. Three souls would die with one death. It filled him with a coldness that to save Dick, he would kill any of the other three, though he would not relish it.
He looked at Dick's old costume. Normally he felt feelings of warm nostalgia fill him. Tonight, it filled him with a deep, dark anger. He resented this costume and resented Bruce for putting Dick into the costume. The costume was a visual reminder of how Bruce had swept Dick up into his holy Jihad, much like a river sweeps up a toy boat. The jihad had nearly claimed Dick many times over the years. He'd seen things no boy was ever meant to see. It had touched his soul with age way before its time. He did things no boy was ever meant to do. It appeared to give Dick a rather unique view of his abilities and his recovery capabilities. It had cemented and encouraged the daredevil streak in him. It had forced him to make decisions far beyond his years, it had tainted his soul with sadness and guilt. Dick was only in his early twenties. His life should be focused on meeting people, having fun, going to college, and the trials and tribulations of the first real serious job. No, his life was a mixture of a taste of that life, but the majority being concerned with the comings and goings of criminals, both major and minor, and protecting others regardless of the cost to himself. It was this that had now resulted in Dick once again residing in the medical bay, having narrowly cheated death.
He resented Robin and Nightwing for consuming his grandson and taking away precious bits of Dick with every patrol. He winced as sometimes Nightwing brought a bittersweet pang. Nightwing was the sweetness of a boy's coming of age into an exceptional young man. Nightwing was also a bite of bitterness to Alfred, reminding him of the horrible way that Bruce had treated his son on more then one occasion and to Alfred in remembering how he stood and did nothing or took Bruce's side. He resented Batman for leading Robin by the hand into this dangerous work. He threw the gloves hard with disgust at the case. He turned away and didn't see the blood leave the gloves and smear the glass, almost as if the costume was spattered now to with the blood of its owner.
He walked to the sink and began to wash his hands. The anger was now leaving him and a tide of grief was washing over him. He'd been mad at Bruce, yet Bruce was missing. He could be dead, or insane, or who knew what. No, his employer wasn't missing. For all intents and purposes his son was missing. His mind was filled with moments of watching Bruce grow up. He saw too the moments when Bruce had needed him and Alfred hadn't know how to react. He saw too the times when Bruce allowed the sensitive side of himself to show. He also saw the many, many moments that showed, regardless of his quest, how much Bruce loved each and every one of his sons. He remembered the times when it would be storming and he would find Dick sleeping in the master bedroom cradled safe in Bruce's arms. He remembered the times of Bruce helping Dick and Tim with homework, especially with the foreign languages he insisted they learn. He saw the times that Bruce just sat meditating on Jason, trying to figure out how to reach the boy. He saw Bruce sneaking into the medical bay and sitting with his sons, often just holding their hand and stroking their hair. Bruce might not say a word but he was letting the boys know he was there, all the same. Alfred bent over the sink and had to fight the nausea that came over him.
He did love this family. They were his and he'd never leave. He couldn't see his life anymore without any of them. They kept him young and they were truly what gave his life meaning and purpose. This was his home and where he belonged. He'd discovered that on his journeys and especially in England. He had come to realize a major part of who he was was back in the States. It was in Gotham, it was well wherever Dick was hanging his hat at the time. He had been happy that his family had reached out to him, to draw him back home. He wasn't surprised who the emissary was who came. He somehow had known the one to keep them all together would be Dick. He still remembered the petulant sulk as he'd enterred the hotel room. It was probably a low blow but he felt that if Dick would persist in his skills of breaking and entering, then he should meet the proper punishment. He'd always hated punishing Dick. Dick would look so sad and guilty that Alfred would often cut the time outs significantly since a reprimand carried far more weight.
He straightened and threw the towel into the garbage. He felt the tide of renewal wash over him. He was staying and he wasn't going to surrender his family to the darkness. He was going to fight until there was nothing in him and then he would still fight some more. He'd be fighting from this world into the next. He smirked that well, yes he'd technically broken a promise to Dick, but it was for his own good. Also, neither of his two little masochists knew, but Alfred had been upping dosages and doctoring them for years. He was glad Tim didn't have that particular streak. Damian would let anyone and everyone know if he was displeased. Jason reacted like an animal, much preferring to lick his own wounds and be left as alone as possible. His little masochists also loved being doted on, getting attention and a little well deserved pampering and babying. He felt Bruce would be found, and as long as Dick was alive, Bruce would recover, Dick wouldn't accept any alternative. He also sensed that somewhere, wherever Bruce was at the moment, he would sense Dick. He would sense that somewhere a part of him was in pain and needed him. It had always done it in the past and he knew it would always do it in the future.
He sat down next to the sleeping young man. He sadly knew that as soon as Dick was awake, Dick would be out, looking first for this woman and seeing that through to its conclusion. He also would be planning how to go and find his father. He knew very soon Bruce would be Dick's obsession again, and Alfred would need to keep a close eye on Dick that he didn't succomb to exhaustion in the process. Tim would help but Tim was also a young man with dreams and ambition. He didn't see Tim staying around Gotham his whole life. He wanted to see the world. He belonged to the larger world. No, if Bruce needed a son in Gotham, Alfred knew in his heart it would be Dick who would come to his side. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for each and every one of his family, even the two black sheep.
The unshaven wreck of a man woke up suddenly. His bleary, bloodshot eyes surveyed his surroundings. He was unsure where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. He really had to fight to keep a coherent thought in his head. All he knew though was he could sense something deep within him. It felt like a rage, mixed with a deep love. Somewhere there was someone hurt, someone who meant a lot to him. Someone was calling for him and he knew he had to find this someone. He needed to get to them and he needed to make whoever had hurt them pay, and pay very very dearly. His eyes darkened that somewhere was someone who needed to be taught not to mess with him and those that belonged to him. Even if the man was not sure who in the h*ll he was right now. He was dang well going to find out and get to the bottom of this mess. No one played him for a patsy and a fool. No one also got between him and his, suddenly the thought hit him like a lightning bolt, sons. His mind was suddenly filled with pictures of four young men. He didn't' know their names but in his heart he knew each and every one of them was his son. He smirked that he must be one heck of a stud underneath it all to have four good looking sons, though the youngest one seemed just a little off. He'd had something now to fight back for. He smelled and grimaced that the first step was to get a shower and some clean clothes. He walked back into the homeless shelter.