There were times Alfred Pennyworth did not understand how his charges maintained a successful double life. The men he looked after had obvious behavioral cues to suggest falsity. His first charge tended to disappear when guilt crept into his life. The first time the young master misbehaved at school, Alfred had not seen the last remaining Wayne except for the obligatory meals and the commute to school. The elderly gentleman, new to parenting, assumed the young sir merely desired solitude. Apparently, there had been a bit of confusion regarding the fact that the family butler was the legal guardian of Bruce Wayne. It was not until Gotham Academy finally contacted him that Alfred realized Master Bruce had been attempting to hide something from him. It was the first and last time such a ruse was successful.
As he aged, the youngest Wayne found alternative ways to vanish when he knew he had committed some wrongdoing, which clued the older man to look for something amiss. Most frequently, Bruce chose to retreat to his company. Undoubtedly, this decision was based upon the reality that Wayne Enterprises was the one area of the man's life that Alfred Pennyworth did not inhabit.
The first child Bruce brought into the manor did not share his guardian's behavior. For one, Richard needed people. He thrived on their presence in a way that neither Alfred nor Bruce did. At first, the earliest clue to guilt or something dangerous weighing on Richard's mind was silence. The boy enjoyed chatter; however, as soon as emotions pressed him down, he retreated to reticence. Growing into a teenager, Richard realized the obviousness of his tell, so the young sir switched to obnoxious prattling. Yet when a matter seriously bothered Master Richard, he tended to emulate his father figure by disappearing, which was part of the reason Alfred's concern for the young man was shifting into worry.
The second child, Master Jason, may his soul rest in peace, blustered. He possessed neither the subtly of Bruce or the charm of Richard. When confronted with guilt, he spoke to your face directly with accusations of unfairness or indifference. In all honestly, Master Jason had been the easiest to handle, as one raised eyebrow was all it took for Jason to grumble an apology and try to change.
Which left the matter of the newest charge in the manor, Timothy. In many ways Timothy reminded Alfred of a young Bruce, but he was also startlingly different. Similar to Master Bruce, the young teenager had started avoiding Alfred. However, there was none of the glowering, instead there was avoidance of eye contact, the toe of his shoe scrapping along the tiled floor, and hunched shoulders.
Master Timothy was hiding something.
If Alfred's suspicions were correct, the matter directly related to Timothy's absence and the car that had passed the manor two weeks ago. There was only one location Timothy would feel the need to sneak off to given Master Bruce's current mood regarding his former ward.
Timothy knew something regarding his grandchild, and Alfred's patience had run out.
Per usual Timothy arrived at the manor at 4:15 to use the gym and complete various training regimen assigned by his mentor. Alfred intercepted him at the door.
"Can I interest you in a snack, Master Timothy?" The butler inquired.
Timothy scrutinized his shoes.
"I'm not hungry," he mumbled.
Undeterred Alfred continued, "Perhaps you'd join me for afternoon tea then. This house has felt empty since Master Dick left."
As expected, the young teenager flinched at the mention of Richard. Still looking at the floor, Timothy nodded and followed Alfred into the kitchen.
Once in the kitchen, the elderly gentleman led the newest Robin to the small circular table in the kitchen, used most often for his charges favorite foods and hot beverages after nightmares and Alfred's afternoon tea. The butler had previously prepared blueberry scones, Timothy's favorite, which sat on a tray in the center table along with his own favorite stress relieving tea. Timothy might not appreciate the many benefits of tea, but he would not be so rude to refuse the beverage.
Alfred hid a smirk the moment the young man stiffened behind him as he realized that he had been led into a trap.
"Please sit down, Master Timothy."
The young man did so, but his gaze focused on the grain of the antique wooden table.
Alfred poured liquid into the two china teacups and sat across from Timothy. He crossed one leg over the other and grabbed the saucer with his left hand and the cup with his right. He took a few sips before beginning his interrogation.
"Is there something you'd like to tell me, Master Tim?" Alfred inquired.
Timothy did not twitch; his sight remained fixed on the table.
Very well, then.
"Perhaps regarding a certain recent trip to Bludhaven."
Blue eyes flicked up to meet his own, surprise clearly on his face.
"How di- how did you know?" The teen responded.
The butler merely raised one eyebrow in response. He found his charges' belief that he was omniscient often tipped the scale in his favor, and he had no intention of revealing his methods to them.
The teenager let out a long breath.
"Okay, yes, I went to Bludhaven to see Dick," he said.
"And?"
Timothy's blue eyes flitted towards Alfred's and back to the table.
Tim spoke quietly, "I promised not to tell Bruce."
Alfred took another sip of his tea as he regarded the boy in front him.
"I know the physical similarities are astounding, but I am not Master Bruce," he remarked.
The humor fell flat; the adolescent directed his next question to the table.
"Do you promise not to tell Bruce?"
"I most certainly will do no such thing," the employee refuted quickly. "I will use my discretion for what Master Bruce may or may not need to be informed about, but I will make no such promises before the information is revealed."
Tim nodded slowly, eyes fixed to the table.
Several moments passed before the young man nodded his head again and looked up, although not at Alfred.
Refusing to meet the older man's eyes, Timothy spoke softly, "I think Dick's suicidal."
The teacup the British man held clacked against the saucer; tea sloshed out of the cup onto the saucer.
Had he been standing, Alfred knew he would have stumbled.
"That- that's not what I meant," Tim rushed to correct himself.
Alfred snapped, "Then speak what you mean quickly."
Tim's eyes focused on an object in the kitchen behind the elderly man.
"I mean," he started. "I've been doing some research, and I'm not a psychologist or anything, but I think he's depressed."
Alfred's heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm. Richard had been diagnosed with situational depression after Jason's passing, but Alfred had suspected the possibility of mental health issues throughout the boy's teenage years. When Timothy's eyes met Alfred's, the man realized how much fear and uncertainty lurked behind them. He had let this matter go for far too long.
"I think the term's passively suicidal," Tim said quietly. "I don't think he cares whether he lives or dies." His voice raised in pitch and desperation, "He's not eating or sleeping. He's withdrawn from his family and friends. He's lying all the time to everyone. He's not okay."
Dropping his gaze to the floor, the young sir whispered, "I'm worried about him."
Despite Alfred's justified trepidation for his grandchild, he shelved his plans for taking care of Richard for later. The desperation in Tim's voice reminded the elderly man just how young the boy in front of him was. Timothy needed his help as well.
"I will see to it that Master Richard receives the help he needs," Alfred promised. "For now, I want you to eat at least one of those blueberry scones and drink the tea."
Timothy made a face as the word tea escaped the British man's lips but knew better than to voice his opinion on the matter.
Picking up a scone, Tim spoke again, "Alfred, there's something else."
The butler was not convinced he'd be able to handle something else, but he nodded for Timothy to continue.
"Dick told me that he sometimes makes Batman angry so Bruce won't notice things," the teenager murmured.
That certainly was a piece of information Alfred hadn't known. His first two charges were stubborn and bullheaded, which he blamed for the frequent disturbances of the peace in Wayne Manor. To learn that Richard manipulated situations to force Master Bruce away from certain aspects of his personal life – well honestly, it was perhaps not as shocking as it should have been. Regardless, he would need to address that as well.
First, it seemed, he owed Master Bruce an apology. A perfectly cooked steak for dinner tonight should express his sentiments.
"You were right to inform me, Master Timothy," Alfred reassured. "I will hand the situation."
It was nine am on the following Saturday when Alfred Pennyworth arrived at an apartment complex in one of the seedier parts of Bludhaven. He tapped precisely three times against the white door marked 504B. When no answer responded to his knocking, he rapped his knuckles against the door three more times. No answer was forthcoming.
Before he could knock a third time, Dick Grayson, clad only in blue and silver stripped boxers, threw open the door.
"Alfred," he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
The man in questioned raised one eyebrow in response. "Do you always answer the door in a state of undress?" The British man queried.
Even though Alfred knew Richard had been instructed in proper manners, his current state of dress allowed the surrogate grandfather to properly assess his physical health. His muscle mass had decreased significantly, doubtlessly caused by the young man's recent aversion to food. Alfred could see the outlines of several ribs, along with a narrowing of his facial features. There were dark circles underneath his eyes. Not to mention the bandages around the bottom right of his torso. His left arm had stitches that had obviously been torn and sutured back together recently. Several yellow bruises colored his chest, and a dark purple bruise spread across his right thigh, which was directly above a swollen knee.
The young sir was not well.
"I wasn't expecting guests," Richard defended.
"My mistake, Master Dick," Alfred replied. "I had not realized I had forgotten to educate you on the proper way to treat unexpected visitors."
His grandson hung his head. It would seem the young man finally began to realize just how much trouble he was in.
"Sorry," he responded, stepping away from the doorway. "Please come in." He gestured with his thumb to a doorway behind him. "I'm gonna change. Uh. Make yourself at home."
The butler hummed in response and began his inspection of the premises, unsurprised to find the living situation in the same condition as the youth. There were only two rusted foldable chairs in the living room. A discarded milk crate was being used as a makeshift table in between them. Multiple coffee stains discolored the beige carpet. Rotting fruits and vegetables emitted an unpleasant aroma from the refrigerator. Coffee grounds littered the countertop. Mugs of various colors were stacked in the kitchen sink.
Focusing on a problem he could solve, Alfred began throwing away the rotted food. The soft slap of bare feet on the tacky linoleum alerted the older man to the return of the younger. Alfred ignored him as he continued disposing of putrid vegetables. Through the crack under refrigerator door, he saw the young man shift his weight from foot to foot.
Finishing his task, Alfred tied the trash bag together and handed it to Richard.
"Dispose of this. I'll pack your things," he ordered.
Dick's face morphed from contrite to contention.
Shaking his head, he argued, "I'm not going back to the manor."
Alfred pursed his lips, and he saw the young man pale.
"When is the last time you ate a proper meal or slept for more than four hours?"
Blue eyes fixated on a coffee stain, Dick refused to answer the question.
"As you have proven yourself quite incapable of adequately caring for yourself, the matter is not up for debate," the elderly man decreed. "You will dispose of this. I will pack your things. Then we both shall return to the manor. Is that understood, Richard?"
Evading the butler's eyes, the boy nodded, but insisted on digging his hole further.
"I was kicked out of the manor," he mumbled.
The youth was skating on very thin ice.
"Would you like to explain how that event came about?" Alfred challenged.
Richard flinched. Eyes wide, he shook his head lightening quick.
"Then I suggest you desist your arguments and objections and prepare to leave," Alfred commanded.
The butler started loading mugs in the dishwasher, turning his back on Dick in clear dismissal. Richard, however, did not take the hint.
"Does Bruce know?" He asked.
"No," Alfred informed him as he rinsed another mug and placing it in the machine. "However, you will be informing him about your manipulation when we return."
"You might as well just kill me know," Dick murmured under his breath.
Alfred's hand slammed onto the counter top. He turned around to face his charge, who had startled by his uncharacteristic outburst.
"Do not joke about such things, young man."
To think that Richard could have – No. He would not consider the possibility. It would not happen.
Wordlessly, Dick carried the trash out of the apartment. Finishing his work in the kitchen, Alfred turned to pack the necessary items from the bedroom. Once he arrived in the bedroom, it was only years of British training that allowed him to not visibly react. Richard's Nightwing gear was strewn across the room. The young man had not even bothered to place the equipment in a box to hide it. Anyone could have seen it.
What had he been thinking?
The sad truth, Alfred admitted, was that Timothy was doubtlessly right.
The butler concentrated on the task at hand. He found a box and began packing the equipment around the room. As he picked up several smoke pellets that had spilled across the floor, Alfred saw the gun.
His heart stopped.
Then restarted. Dick had joined the police force. Police officers used guns. There was nothing concerning about that. It didn't mean –
He picked up the gun. Ignoring his biliousness that the safety was off, Alfred quickly removed the ammunition clip and shifted the safety on. He could not in good conscience leave the weapon on the floor of the apartment. Reluctantly, he placed it in the box as well.
When Richard returned, Alfred handed the box to the man, and they descended the stairs in silence.
Five minutes into the soundless drive, Dick spoke up.
"You know, I'd never do that, right?" Dick mumbled to the floor.
Alfred raised an eyebrow in response to the unspecific statement.
The older teenager took a deep breath. Summoning his courage, he said, "I'd never kill myself. Just in case – you seemed worried is all."
Alfred allowed himself a small smile.
"That is very good to hear, Master Dick." Yet the worry that gnawed away at the grandfather would not be abated. "However, you do not appear to be inclined in preventing your demise either."
His grandson refused to acknowledge him for the remainder of the journey home.
Author's Note: I hope Alfred didn't seem out of character. I've read many of the depressed Dick fics online, and I'm fairly certain people do not write Alfred's perspective often or at all. Alfred is the best, but reacting to a loved one with suicidal thoughts is emotional and he cannot lose another grandchild.
I cannot thank you enough for the comments and favorites!
Next up: Dick undergoes and thorough medical exam and faces Bruce.