Alfred glanced back at the still form of his friend who had passed out of pure exhaustion.
Bruce's laboured breaths have settled down but thin trickles of sweat lined his still tensed face.
Alfred could hardly make out the street, for the burning stream of tears in his grey eyes blurred his vision.
He drove as fast as possible.
He would do anything in his power to prevent the death of Bruce Wayne, to prevent thedeath of
Batman - the man that finally gave Gotham hope. Never would Alfred allow the loss of the son to
whose father Alfred made his promise all those years ago. The promise to Thomas Wayne to take
care of that what was most precious toThomas Waynein the whole world - his son.
No, Alfred was indeed not a person to break his word.
With the headlights off and under cover of darkness they finally arrived at Wayne Manor.
Alfred used the hidden access that was covered by rampant bushes and greenery and led
directly into the Batcave . It has been especially constructed for these kinds of rescue
missions. Just in case - if the Dark Night was in need of some… well… rescue.
Alfred got out, opened the back door of the car and laid Bruce gently down on a soft cot.
The Butler knew, if Bruce was poisoned, he had to act quickly but first, hehad to attend the
wounds caused by the fall so that he could take care of the poisoning without damaging
Bruce's body more.
Alfred removed the batsuit and a very deep purple bruise, indicating a broken
rib, was revealed. Alfred just hoped that there would be no internal damage like a punctured
lung. For such severe injuries, Bruce required the attention of a real doctor. But it was far too
risky to take a completely stranger into their confidence. Especially in Gotham. And especially if the
injured person was .. well Batman. Aaaand especially if the person was Bruce Wayne, the
Prince of Gotham, who has been dead for 7 years and rose from the ashes, the playboy that
has poison in his veins and bruises like he has been used as a living punch bag . And of course
especially if the person was the Bruce Wayne, the playboy and billionaire that thought that
Batman, an adult man wearing a bat costume clearly has issues, was lying in this bat
cave actually being Batman. Yes, Alfred could rule the doctor out.
He had to wake him up. If Bruce wasn't able to tell him in person if he had suffered internal
injuries Bruce would bleed to death.
Alfred squeezed Bruce's shoulder softly.
"Master Wayne"
Bruce's body remained lifeless under Alfred's hand. He grasped the shoulder of the
unconscious man tighter and shook the limp body slightly.
"Master Wayne, you really have to wake up, sir"
The younger man stirred a little bit and a small moan escaped his lips.
"Master Wayne," Alfred grew impatient "You won't die on me now, sir. So wake the hell up
or you get a problem with me!"
Alfred's aroused voice and the not so gentle slap on his cheek brought Bruce back to the
living.
The haunted eyes locked once again with Alfred's. Alfred really didn't want to think of what
ghosts of the past tortured Bruce's already wounded soul, torn apart on the day his parents
died, leaving a wide open, never healing gash.
It was the same look that young Master Bruce had, when he told Alfred that the boy felt
responsible for his parents' death. It was on this day when Alfred was able to see inside the
boy and see a broken and injured spirit. From this day on, Alfred tried so hard to heal and
soothe the battered soul. But now it was open again and bleeding.
"Sir, you have to focus now. I need to know if you have any internal damage. I'm going to palpate your body. You have to tell me when it hurts. Do you understand?"
Bruce nodded and Alfred started to slide his fingers over the torso and chest of the injured man.
Alfred wanted to test if the lung was punctured by the broken rib and just as he had suspected, Bruce uttered a scream until he convulsed with a fit of coughing. And Bruce passed out once again.
Worry and fear was written all over Alfred´s face. Bruce had coughed up blood.
He definitely needed help.
TBC