"Hey, Alfie."
Alfred stood, frozen on the spot, for a couple of seconds. He couldn't believe it, Jason, his Jason. The Jason who had followed on his heels like a puppy, hanging on his every word. The Jason who had begged him to let him help him in the kitchen. The Jason he had taught to read and write. The Jason who he had read classic fiction to everyday. The Jason who had spent hours running around the batcave in his Robin costume, grinning like the devil. The Jason who would blabber about his night whilst he tended to his wounds. The Jason who had died. The Jason he had buried. Standing right in front of him. No. It couldn't be. Alfred... Alfred had carried his coffin, watched as they buried him. He'd placed flowers on his grave on his birthday and tended to the weeds. On bad days Alfred had sat beside his gravestone, for hours at a time, and just talked. He knew it was a foolish endeavour but it had honestly helped. He felt some comfort in still being able to talk to Jason, even if he could never answer. Was this really his Jason?
He had to be dreaming again. The second he touched Jason, he would evaporate into thin air and he would wake up, doomed to spend the rest of the night staring at Jason's memorial, echoing the phone call from Bruce in his head. 'He killed him, Alfred. I couldn't stop him. Jason, he's gone.'
After receiving that call, Alfred had stood paralysed by the thought. He'd never see Jason again. He'd never hear Jason's million and one questions he always had to ask. The boy he had come to love like a son was gone.
Jason had only been a boy when he died. He'd still hide behind Alfred's coat-tails during parties. This was the version of Jason Alfred would dream of. A fourteen year old with electric blue eyes and unruly black hair. Never had he ever seen Jason as any older than he had been before his death. He'd seen every variation in between, from the arrogant child who had first set foot in the manor, to the sweet young man who had left it. The Jason stood before him, however, was most certainly not a fourteen year old. He looked at least nineteen and every bit like Jason had.
Admittedly, the white streak that ran through significantly more tamed hair was slightly different to what he remembered, and his eyes were a shade or two closer to green. The intelligence that was behind them screamed Jason. This gave Alfred a spark of hope that he knew he'd more likely than not regret. He had to be real. There was no doubt in Alfred's mind. This was his Jason.
Jason stood and rubbed the back of his neck. He seemed just as uncomfortable with the situation as Alfred was stunned. Alfred snapped out of his stupor and strode across the room and embraced Jason. Jason tensed but relented. "I missed you too." He mumbled into Alfred's shoulder. It was true. Out of everyone in the family, Jason genuinely had missed Alfred the most.
Alfred had been the one Jason had spent the most time with. Bruce had been busy with Wayne Enterprises, Dick didn't come round too often now that he was there, and Barbara had tried to visit as often as she could but, in the long days Jason would spend in the manor, Alfred was the person Jason would spend them with.
He would trail around the manor with Alfred as he went about his daily jobs, offering help whenever he could. 'Oh, can I help, Alfie? Huh? Can I? Can I?'
Jason had been a very clumsy child, but Alfred appreciated the help. Even if it meant that he had to occasionally clean up the remnants of china plates. The area that Jason had been particularly proficient in was cooking. He had to provide for himself and his mother in every way. And this meant that from a very young age Jason had to learn how to cook. His method of cooking was very different to Alfred's, however.
Jason's was more 'throw it all in and hope for the best'. Whilst it lacked the finesse and precision that Alfred was accustomed to, there had been a lot of potential. Especially if compared to Dick. Alfred was almost certain that until he had been taken into the manor, Dick had no idea how his meal had made their way to his plate. He hadn't taken to the idea of cooking very well either. The whole process seemed to bore the very energetic child.
Jason, on the other hand, had taken to cooking like a duck to water. Sure, he had the tendency to get frustrated when things didn't go right, but, with enough encouragement, Jason had produced some very impressive dishes. He was particularly fond of pie. 'Pie's a good, reliable food. You've gotta admit it, Alf. Anything you can have for dinner and desert is something to behold.'
Alfred pulled away and looked up at Jason, examining him. "It really is you, Master Jason. But, how?" The expression Alfred held was a mixture of amazement and joy, all thinly masked by the butler's stoic nature.
"Long, long story," Jason replied, "I'll tell you all of it, I promise. But you should probably help Bruce. He isn't looking to good. And, when you're done with that, I have a couple of things that need looking at."
Alfred smiled. "Yes, Master Jason."