Hope Ignites

Summery: Alfred watches as a small boy teaches Bruce about hope.Bruce doesn't quite realize the significance this has on his life or his soul.

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Alfred Pennyworth sat next to the bed in the nursery, keeping vigil over the small dark-haired boy in his charge. It had been a bad night again. Just like many bad nights he had weathered through with his first charge. Master Bruce had been even more withdrawn and when he grew older had shrugged off Alfred's attempts to comfort him. Yes, this experience was certainly bringing back memories. With the young master's crusade consuming so much of the night hours Alfred was on "Nightmare Duty" a fair portion of the time. Sometimes he woke sobbing, sometimes as tonight screaming inconsolably, too hysterical to sleep until he cried himself to sleep in Alfred's arms. Although Master Dick had been asleep for almost half an hour now, he was loath to leave him just yet, incase the dreams began again.

"Another nightmare?"

Sometimes it still shocked him how Master Bruce could come up behind him so soundlessly. One of many skills the young master had acquired over the years. However, as any well trained butler, Alfred never gave away his surprise at one of these silent approaches.

"We did not pass a pleasant night." The major domo understated quietly.

Taking a cursory look at his employer he noticed the stiff way the young man held himself and decided that tea and bandages were in order. He pointedly lifted an eyebrow at the master, who was engrossed in staring at his young ward as though he had never seen the boy before.

"I trust you tended your injuries before changing clothes and coming up?"

Bruce lifted his head and looked at him

"Yes, I put on bandages, Alfred."

"Very well then, I'll fetch the tea"

As he prepared the tray, Alfred pondered the melancholy mood he seemed to have fallen into. It did seem rather out of character, he generally left gloomy thoughts and brooding to Master Bruce's abundant attention to the subject. His dry cynical sense of humor usually gave him ample opportunity to express somewhat negative thoughts without allowing them to unduly influence him.

It wasn't that Dick Grayson's situation was so depressing, he'd been through it before and managed to focus on the good he could do rather than the horror of it all. And Master Bruce himself seemed to be in a better place than the dark spiral of revenge he was starting down before the boy had entered their lives. It was the struggle of looking at a the young boy's sorrow together with the effects of such a grief almost twenty years later, that made him wonder if Master Dick would be able to recover more or be stuck in the same place of self-blame and penance that made up Batman's world.

By the time he returned tray in hand, the young master had taken his place in the chair next to the bed, a wisp of longing in his face as he tucked the blankets more securely around the sleeping acrobat.

"He asked me if they get any better."

Bruce Wayne's eyes looked up at him, not the cool eyes of Batman that so often greeted Alfred's gaze.

"I told him they get less frequent over time. I'm not sure I was very honest with him. Can I really say they've gotten better? Can you honestly say I've gotten better?"

The agonized blue eyes turned away and Alfred slipped the cup of tea into the hero's hand, waiting for the boy to continue. Bruce's response to his own rhetorical question was barely a whisper.

"Sometimes, I wonder if I did the right thing taking him in. I…I'm not his parents. I'm not a parent at all. I wanted to do something to help him, but…surely there's someone who could do so much better. I thought maybe the training would help. Take his mind off of it. Keep him busy with the challenge of trying to keep up with Batman's abilities, but I'm not sure it's enough…."

Moved by the unusual show of vulnerability, Alfred felt the need the reassure the young man.

"Master Bruce. Master Richard is doing remarkably well given the situation of his parent's loss and although I'll admit I had reservations about your thought process in taking on the challenge of a child, much less training him in the arts of your crusade, which I you'll remember I had many concerns about when the first young man in my care began preparing for in earnest, I believe at the moment this is as good place for the young master as any. The important thing is to love and care for Master Dick to the best of our abilities. My only concern is his eagerness to join you on your evening activities. Fighting criminals is not the most healthy activity for a boy of his age, nor the safest either."

Bruce sipped the tea thoughtfully.

"He needs the challenge of doing something about what happened, I won't let him focus on revenge, but fighting crime isn't nessisarily a bad thing to focus on. And I won't let him come with me until he's fully ready, Alfred. I promise. Besides, the boy's a natural, and I'll keep a close eye on him. With good training, protecting him from injury shouldn't be too much of a problem. It's protecting him from the pain and emptiness I'm worried about! How can I help him from it when I can't even rid myself of them?"

Memories flashed through his mind as Alfred listened. A boy with despair and grief written in his face. Determination and tenacity as he prepared himself for a task years yet ahead of him. Slowly watching the child he raised being swallowed by a dark crusade for justice, until at times all that seemed to remain was Batman. Watching Bruce Wayne become only a name for a puppet to fool people and protect the Bat. The balance distance between justice and revenge becoming smaller and small as time went by….

And then Alfred thought of Dick. He thought of the emotion in Bruce Wayne's eyes as he saw himself in the boy. He saw all the determination of Batman's immovable will turned on aiding and supporting this young boy. He thought of the smile of praise on his face as he watched Dick master a defensive move and add to it with his own gymnastic style. Alfred had never thought much of people who added children rashly to an already difficult situation, thinking it would fix everything. A crying baby did not help a broken marriage. An exuberant child running around did not add self-esteem to an insecure parent. But perhaps there was some truth in the notion that loving a child can help heal a lost and broken soul.

"Perhaps, Master Bruce, together you will help each other."

Still a little unconvinced, Bruce responded tiredly.

"Perhaps."

Bruce ruffled the hair on small boy's head

"We should get some sleep too, old friend."

The master was still unsure of his place in this boy's life, but Alfred's mood had lifted. Even in darkness that surrounded them, hope shown brightly. As one boy struggled to deal with the tragedy that had become irrefutably a part of his life, other boy from long ago, with the same grief in his eyes, was finally starting to heal. It had taken a child of his own to bring his child back to the land of the living, and after performing the miracle of stealing Batman's the heart, healing from his own scars should be quite manageable for such a special young man. Dick Grayson would be alright in time. And perhaps with his help….Even Bruce Wayne would be as well….

End.