Author Notes: This takes place after the events of Batman (Volume 2) #13, known as Death of the Family. This is my first fan fiction.
Disclaimer: I own nothing! DC comics own the characters. Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo are the creators of the story arch, Death of the Family. I'm simply expanding it.
Alfred disliked Batman, but could recognized his necessity. He hated how Batman would take the man he thought of as his son for the night and return him beaten and hurt in the morning. After the diligent butler managed to stop the bleeding, Batman would swoop in and rip the young master away from him once more. Alfred eventually grew used to the tiresome cycle as there was nothing he could do to stop it. He kept quiet about it for the most part, only insisting that Batman take better care of Master Bruce. However, Alfred had protested against Batman taking his surrogate grandchildren to be his loyal soldiers and join his crusade, but again there was nothing he could do to stop it. It had been necessary, as he had to constantly reminded himself. For as much as Alfred loathed to admit it, he had to accept the ugly truth. The world needed Batman more than it did Bruce Wayne.
It was for this reason, on Master Bruce's blackest days when he was full of doubt of Batman's influence, Alfred was there to comfort and inspire him back into that horrid cowl. Each time, Alfred felt like a traitor to both Master Bruce and his fallen parents. Nevertheless, he was proud of Master Bruce and the boys. They had done so much and had saved countless lives. Villainy was forced to think twice before exposing its dreaded face, falling prey to superstition and cowardly ways. Hope had returned to Gotham. Still, it had come at a cost, one that may have been too high.
Master Bruce had paid with the loss of his parents. His dedication to avenge them have left him a cold shell of the smiling eight-year-old that Alfred had known long ago. Master Dick had paid with his parents and his home, saving the light left in Batman. Master Jason had paid… too much… Alfred paused from his dusting of the study to gaze at one of the few pictures that they had of the boy. The wide smile spread across his eleven-year-old face as Master Jason proudly held up the fish he caught with Master Bruce standing behind him. A congratulatory hand rested on the young boy's left shoulder. Alfred thought back to how the happy boy in the picture looked nothing like the angry young man that had recently renounced them. Was it Batman's fault? Perhaps, but he was not the one who killed the young master or brought him back for a torturous life. Still, the way Master Bruce condemned himself, he may as well had done it all. Batman had done nothing to ease that guilt, leaving it up to another to do the deed.
Poor Master Tim was a godsend, but he had to pay too for this life. So, he did with the grief that came from the loss of his parents, his close friends, Miss Stephanie… Alfred shook his head from the grief. It was just that she was too young like Master Jason. Life had barely started for either of them, only for this insane crusade to snuff them both out. It made Alfred fear for the newest recruit, Master Bruce's own son. Master Damian had paid with the love of his mother and the believed death of his father; but would that be enough? Would fate be satisfied with his sacrifice or will it be angry to have been cheated from keeping Master Bruce? Will fate strike at them again or finally finish them off? Will it be Deathstroke? Talia? Two-Face? Will be something else unforeseen? An alien invasion? Darkseid?
As if the universe had heard his inquiries, Alfred almost had his answer when the ringing of the doorbell pulled him away from his cleaning. He pulled the grand door open. To his shock, the Joker stood there, dressed in a blue jumpsuit with a utility belt and Joe's name tag. Grinning wide, he proceeded to hit him with a hammer until the poor butler succumbed to unconsciousness. Alfred remembered those agonizing days of being tortured and brainwashed. He remembered helping the Joker host a mock dinner in the caves leading to the Batcave and serving each member of the Batfamily, excluding the Batman, with a cloche that seemingly containing their own severed faces. To his greatest shame, he remembered watching as Batman lit his family aflame while he stood by, doing nothing. To think that Master Damian had to restrain him, Alfred shuddered at the memory. His only redemption was bringing the children back to their senses through the reminder of family, but the damage was done. The cracks had fractured. Now, here was Alfred. He was resting up in his room when Master Bruce opened the drapes to allow natural light from the window.
"What in heaven's name is that fiery ball in the sky?" Alfred snapped irritably, taking in his surroundings. He was in his room. Joker was gone. The family was safe. In his shifting to help get more awake, he noted the IV in his arm.
"You've got good timing, Alfred. The rain finally stopped a few minutes ago." Master Bruce remarked with a smile. His relief that his surrogate father had finally awaken was palpable. Alfred wondered how long Master Bruce had kept vigil over him as he slept. From the young master's appearance, he looked like the happy, playboy billionaire the Gotham tabloids all raved about. Under Alfred's keen eye, there were ruffles of exhaustion and trace evidence of emotional pain—guilt over recent event, most likely—that kept Batman fed. "How are you feeling?" Now, there was a question.
"Like, hell, honestly, but I'll be all right soon." Alfred reported. Similar to the rest of the Batfamily, Alfred had already planned to be up and about sooner than what would have been medically recommended. After all, the Wayne Manor and all of its past and present occupants would quickly fall to pieces without him. Speaking of which… "How are they?"
"Recovered. Physically." The smile was gone, replaced by an analytic expression. "It's strange, though, there's a trace of radioactive isotopic material in the toxin he used on you and the rest of the family. The computer is still working to identify it. Just a minuscule amount, nothing harmful, but still." Yes, it would be easier to focus on some Joker-related anomaly than working to rebuild the broken trust and strained relationship with the family, Alfred grimly fretted. Oh, Master Bruce… However, the next words of his eldest charge put such thoughts at ease. "I actually invited them over to talk. They should be here soon."
"And you, Master Bruce? How are you?" Alfred inquired, concerned. As much as the Batfamily suffered through this latest crisis, it was always Master Bruce that took the most damage while Batman again remained unscathed.
"I should let you rest." Master Bruce evaded as he pulled a small object from his pocket and held it out to the recovering butler. It was a brass hand bell, about 6 inches in size. "But first, this is for you."
"What in—" Alfred sputtered at the implication. "You will promptly take this back, sir, or heaven help me I will wrap this IV pole around your—"
"One ding for food. Two for a drink. Three for a real drink." Master Bruce interrupted good-naturally. He was enjoying this too much. If only he was like this when the roles were reversed…
"Go to hell." Alfred snipped, settling under the cover. Then, he noticed Master Bruce's hesitancy in the doorway. A moment of silence passed. "Sir, are you sure you're all right?" Of course, he wasn't. Why would he be? Instead of answering the question, Master Bruce shared a memory behind why he was so certain that the Joker did not know the secret identities of the Batfamily, in spite of the actions to the contrary.
"I went to see him, once, Alfred. I visited him… in Arkham." Master Bruce said quietly. His voice turned in contempt of the name. His turquoise blue eyes could not meet the older, brown ones looking up to him. "It was just after we took Dick in. I went under the guise of Bruce Wayne investing in a new wing for the asylum. When we neared his cell, I asked the director for a glass of water. Made a show of it." A mirthless chuckle slipped out, but the seriousness quickly overtook it as he continued.
"Once I was alone, I went to his door and presented the card, the one I found in the Batcave, to him. He looked right at the card, Alfred, and right at me… But…" Master Bruce finally met Alfred's gaze. "But he didn't see me. He didn't see me at all. It was then that I knew—" His tone grew more apprehensive with each word. "—knew that he didn't care who I was beneath the mask, and incapable of even broaching the subject of Bruce Wayne. It would ruin his fun." Soon, he was rambling, attempting to rationalize. It was apparent that he was trying to convince himself more than reassure his patient. Alfred tried to cut in, but then Master Bruce reached the root of his disquietude.
"They know that he's wrong, don't they?" Alfred sighed as he thought, how can they when you never told them yourself? When Batman kept you from telling them? Master Bruce turned away, gripping the door handle tightly. "I'll never let that happen, what he said. I'll never let it end up like that… Everyone gone, except me and—"
"Sir, please." Alfred broke the tirade, unwilling to allow Master Bruce to continue to punish himself in this manner. He tried to put his troubled mind at ease. "He's gone now. It's over." Except, it wasn't over. The damage had been done. The family—my family—was broken, divided, lost. Not one agreed to see Master Bruce, whose disappointment was poorly hidden. Alfred could barely contain the rise of paternal ire in him. Though the Joker was the culprit, it was Batman he blamed as he was the source of it all, the root cause. It was Batman that enticed Joker's infatuation. It was Batman that caused Master Bruce to distrust his own son. It was Batman that challenged Gotham's madness. Alfred flashed back to when Two-Face nearly beat a nine-year-old Master Dick to death, when Joker killed Master Jason, when a crazed Azrael attempted to murder Master Tim, and… The list goes on, but it all boiled down to Batman, who stole his son and scattered his grandchildren. Batman had left Master Bruce more alone than ever.
If only, Alfred thought bitterly. If only there was no Batman… It was not like there was a shortage of heroes. Is that not why the Justice League formed in the first place? Why not let one of them take the horrors Gotham festered in? Someone else could do it… But, only Batman was equipped to do the deed and take on Gotham's madness. For that was the ugly truth. The world needed Batman more than it did Bruce Wayne, but it did nothing to stop a tired old man for wishing that events had been different.