Chapter 22

Wayne Manor, Gotham City. January 17th, 2018. 9:23 PM.

Alfred strolled into the library with three china cups filled with hot tea balanced on the platter in his right hand, and a smile spread across his weathered face as he found Raven and Damian curled up together against the wall, a hefty-looking book sitting in the former's lap. The young lady had explained to him the concept of this "connective narration" the day before, but the idea that someone could actually reach into the mind of another seemed unusual to him. Now, he was perfectly familiar with the concept of hypnotic suggestion and mind-control, but those were rooted squarely in psychology, an observable and legitimate field of science. But from what he gathered in his conversations with Miss Roth, it seemed that she was capable of forming some sort of connection directly between her mind and someone else's, allowing them to not only speak to one another, but share mental images and even full memories, all without uttering a single word aloud.

He also learned that, while her links to the minds of all of her teammates were strong, none of them even came close to her bond with Damian. The two of them were so intertwined that they even found themselves sharing certain aspects of their dreams. Until this point, the girl had never even heard of such a powerful link between two mortals. At first, Alfred was rather skeptical regarding the validity of her statement. But as the two conversed further during their wandering around the mansion, she spoke like she'd actually seen several rooms and objects in the Manor several times before, as if she had indeed received the memories of someone who had lived here before. As difficult as it was for him to wrap his head around, Alfred knew she was telling him the truth. As for why they were able to share certain parts of their dreams with one another, Alfred had his own theory: from what he understood, this "Azarath" that Miss Roth had told him about was populated by a people who counted purity among their most sacred of ideals. In all likelihood, these people probably maintained absolute celibacy for the duration of their lives, and as such, no two denizens of Azarath would ever have developed a connection as deeply rooted and well-nurtured as the connection between her and Damian; she may very well have been the first servant of this "Azar" to ever experience a romantic interest. He considered, perhaps, that she was indeed the first of her kind to fall in love.

As Alfred approached the two teenagers seated on the floor before him, he was amused to find that, even being directly in their line of eyesight, the children somehow managed to not notice his presence in the slightest. Shaking his head gently with a tired smile, he cleared his throat somewhat deliberately. To this, Damian and Raven both lifted their eyes from their book and smiled up at him.

"If it pleases the both of you," Alfred began, "I've prepared some tea for the three of us. For you, Miss Roth, I allowed myself to make some assumptions, and prepared for you a cup of Earl Grey with a touch of lavender." He carefully lowered the expensive china and its steaming contents into Raven's hand. She brought it up to her face and took a soft breath, allowing the smell of the beverage to fill her sense of smell before bringing the tea up to her lips. Cautiously, the young girl took a slow, quiet sip from her cup.

"Earl Grey is actually my favorite. Thank you, Mister Pennyworth," Raven whispered, beaming back up at him.

"Of course, Miss Roth. And for you, Master Damian, I've prepared your favorite. Brown sugar instead of white, fresh cut lemon, and of course, a china cup." Damian behaved similarly to his counterpart, first taking in the drink's scent, then gingerly taking a sip from the cup.

"Thank you, Pennyworth," Damian said, a simple happiness in his eyes as he spoke. "To be honest with you, I'm surprised you even remembered that."

"Well, you should realize by now," Alfred said with a smile, "that even though I may be getting old, my mind is as sharp as ever."

Raven tilted her head with a smile. "Come on, Mr. Pennyworth. You're not that old yet."

Alfred cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Oh, please. I've walked this earth for eighty-four years, Miss Roth," he replied slyly, pulling up a chair. "I think I know what old age feels like."

Raven instinctively threw her eyebrows up, genuinely surprised by Alfred's statement. "What? You're… Mr. Pennyworth, you don't look anywhere close to that!"

The butler chuckled before taking a seat in his chair and sipping at his own tea. "Well, I do try to take care of myself," he replied. "Wouldn't want Master Bruce to get too lonely here in the Manor, would we?" He and Damian laughed for a moment, but Raven sat in silence, looking up at the old man quizzically.

"Mr. Pennyworth…" the Titan began, "… when exactly did you first become a butler?"

Alfred paused for a moment, not particularly used to people asking questions about his life. A calm smile appeared on his face as he thought back on all he'd done.

"Well, my dear…" Alfred started, his voice low as he thought about where to begin. "To understand that, you need to know what I was doing before I was employed by the Wayne family. My first real job was as a gardener when I was seventeen, long before I ever even came to America… it was difficult at first, but soon I learned how to properly tend to a seed, make sure it received enough sunlight and water every day. And Heavens… until that point, I'd never experienced anything quite so fulfilling as seeing a flower you grew with your own two hands in full bloom."

"Funny, isn't it?" Raven chimed in. "Your first job was helping things grow. Now here you are, over half a century later, still helping things grow."

"Yeah," Damian replied with a smirk. "Of course, none of those flowers ever threw a whole turkey across the kitchen, did they?"

"Indeed," Alfred cocked an eyebrow as he answered, a smug grin on his face. "But then again, flowers never brought home any nice young ladies to meet their father and butler, now did they?"

Damian and Raven blushed as the exchanged a quick glance, bashful smiles dancing on their lips. Raven took Damian's hand in hers, sliding her fingers into the spaces between his and squeezing gently.

"No," Raven said, looking down at their joined hands, "I guess they didn't."

Alfred's expression softened at the sight. "Now where was I… ah! Yes, after gardening for a year, I decided to join the Royal Guard and do my service for the Crown. After a few years in the Guard, I actually ended up joining Her Majesty's Secret Service."

"Wait, really?" Raven perked up for a moment, but Alfred quickly raised a hand.

"I'm afraid you'll have to hold your enthusiasm, Miss Roth," Alfred sighed. "Sadly, I'm not at liberty to divulge the details of this period of my life. After all, they named it the Secret Service for a reason." Raven let out an exaggerated groan as Damian rolled his eyes.

"In any case, during my six years as an agent, I rediscovered a passion I'd flirted with briefly during secondary school, but ultimately had set aside when joining the Guard: acting." A smug grin stretched across Alfred's face as he continued. "I joined up with a Shakespearean troupe and toured with them across the country for about four years. Unfortunately, I had to leave troupe in 1968 when my father passed away. My father had been the previous butler to the Wayne family, you see… so when he died, I was called upon to take his place."

"Why is that?" Damian asked. "You're certainly no servant. What exactly bound you here?"

"Oh, don't misunderstand, Master Damian," Alfred responded with a shake of his head. "There was no legal obligation for me to provide my services. I took this position because I knew my father would have wanted me to ensure that the Waynes were taken care of when he was gone… Your great-grandparents were always good to my family during his time here, Master Damian. They always brought all of us into Gotham to celebrate Thanksgiving in this mansion with them, as if we were Waynes as well. In fact, we gathered around the very same table that stands in the dining room today. Being invited to commune with the Wayne family at that old table is quite an honor, as if you've taken a seat among many well-known figures throughout American history. Musicians, artists, presidents… even a Pope sat at that table several decades ago, when he accepted an offer to stay in the Manor during a visit to the United States."

"I imagine it took moving Heaven and Earth to be invited to dine with the Waynes in those days." Damian mused, absently dragging his thumb in little circles over the back of Raven's.

Raven's face turned a deeper shade of red as she looked down at the closed book in her lap. "Guess I got lucky," she said quietly. "All I had to do was get Damian to like me."

"Ha! Miss Roth, I assure you," Pennyworth piped up, "that in itself is truly a feat of Herculean proportions. Master Bruce and I spent three years trying to make Master Damian feel at home here. The fact that you accomplished this and managed to calm his seemingly unrelenting aggression proves you've done more than enough to join this family in my opinion."

Raven paused for a moment as she thought on the words the butler had just said. As she realized what it was he was saying, her lips began to lightly tremble as they shifted into a shaky smile, and her eyes began to well up with tears. "I… th-thank you, Mr. Pennyworth…"

Alfred smiled sweetly down into the young woman's eyes. "No, Miss Roth. I'm the one who should be thanking you for everything you've done for my…" he trailed off as he looked over at the Son of Batman, whose eyes were turned lovingly to his Raven. Alfred smiled. "… everything you've done for my grandson. As far as I'm concerned, Miss Raven, you are one of us."

Raven suddenly let out a cough, unable to keep holding the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding onto. She laughed weakly for a moment, her laughter intermingled with an occasional sniffle as a single tear rolled down her cheek, and her hair began to slowly rise into the air as little twinkles of violet light danced around her. A soft, sweet smile curled onto Damian's lips; Alfred was right. Raven was a part of the family, and there was no denying it.

Alfred sighed as he picked back up with this story. "As I said before, I stayed on as butler because the Waynes didn't treat their hired help as… well, hired help. They treated them as family. For how well they treated my father up until the moment he passed, I had grown to love them as if they were my own family as well… and I wound up forming a particularly close bond with their son, thirty-year old Dr. Thomas Wayne… your grandfather, Master Damian."

Damian perked up. "… What was he like?"

Alfred paused, gathering his thoughts. "For as long as I knew him, which had been a great deal of both our lives, Master Thomas had always possessed the heart of a servant… which was quite ironic, considering his heritage. Despite his parents' constantly assuring him that he wouldn't need to go through college, and that he would do just fine as the head of Wayne Enterprises, Master Thomas still went out and earned his Doctorate. Miss Martha was so proud of him…"

"Martha… that was Damian's grandmother, right?" Raven asked, having regained her composure.

"That's correct, Miss Raven. The two of them shared a rebellious spirit, which I believe played a part in bringing them together. Miss Martha was born into the Kane family, the family who owned Kane Chemicals, the pharmaceutical company. The Kanes and the Waynes didn't, ah… didn't exactly agree on a number of matters regarding Gotham's future. So when Thomas and Martha announced their engagement, the Kane family was outraged. It actually damaged many of Miss Martha's relationships… but nonetheless, Thomas and Martha Wayne were the acting heads of the Wayne household when I came into their employ.

"Unfortunately, Master Thomas' parents passed away not long after. Thomas had been born later in their lives, so by this time, they were both in their eighties. There wasn't anything that could have been done. The two of them had been instrumental in revitalizing Gotham after the Great Depression, so it was a major blow to the city's collective morale when they died, and it manifested in the form of a drastic increase in violent crimes, particularly in Gotham's… hmm, how shall I put this… 'lower-income' areas."

"As awful as that sounds, it sorts of makes sense that it would happen," Damian said flatly. "People in areas like Park Row were probably depending on them to open more jobs so that they could escape poverty. So when they died, those people likely came to the conclusion that what they were doing was the only way for them to get by. Many of them likely had families to provide for… it's sad, really."

"I agree, Master Damian. It would seem that the death of a Wayne is almost always followed by the suffering of Gotham's people." Alfred continued. "In any case, your grandfather decided that while he may not have been able to save them, he would still do everything in his power to bring the city they dedicated so much of their lives to back from the brink. That is why most of Gotham's infrastructure is owned and maintained by your family's company; Master Thomas was, first and foremost, a surgeon at Gotham General, but the few times he took action as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, his actions were immensely impactful, and incredibly beneficial for Gotham as a whole. In doing all of this, your grandfather created several thousand jobs, giving anyone willing to work for it an opportunity to bring themselves and their families out of poverty."

"And five years after that, Father was born," Damian piped up, "is that right?"

"Exactly," Alfred replied with a smile. "I still remember the night it happened like it was only yesterday… Master Bruce was born in the Regency Room of this house on February 19th, 1973 at 10:30 in the evening. I was unaware that Miss Martha had gone into labor, and was occupied in the family room, looking over a piece of music your grandmother had written…"

"Hold on…" Damian held his hand up in surprise. "Grandmother wrote music?"

The old caretaker chuckled quietly as he looked down at the curiosity in Damian's eyes. "Your grandmother was a woman of very many talents, Master Damian. She loved music; she was a far more gifted pianist than I've ever been, and her alto was rich and... and full of life…" Alfred paused. His eyes took on a wistful look as he thought back. "Every Christmas, when we were all gathered in the family room, with a fire burning in the fireplace, Miss Martha would…" His hands began to tremble, and his lower lip started to quiver. "She… She would sit down at the piano, and… and…"

Damian reached forward and placed a hand on Alfred's knee. The butler turned his face away and squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as he fought back against the tears.

"Alfred…" Damian kept his voice soft and quiet, rising to his feet with Raven following suit beside him. Just as Damian brought his hand to Alfred's shoulder, the old man's resistance collapsed, and he let out a forceful cough before bending forward, burying his face in his hands as he wept.

"I… I… oh God, they were my closest friends," Alfred stammered through his cries. "They were… they were my family… I, I… God, God, oh God!" As he continued crying out, his words became slurred and too difficult for Damian or Raven to understand.

As his strength was quickly spent, his voice began to gradually fade away, until Pennyworth was left hunched over, his face still hidden in his hands, whimpering quietly.

Raven began to tremble, feeling wave after wave of grief crash over her like a raging tide. Had this been two years ago, she would have had to leave the room, to keep herself from being overwhelmed by the vast reserves of negative emotion. Instead, she stepped forward and placed her hand on Alfred's other shoulder. There was no mysterious purple light. No otherworldly incantation. No shadows stretching across the room. She just placed her hand on his shoulder and spoke.

"Mr. Pennyworth…" Raven's voice was soft, filled with compassion. "… would it be okay if I looked at the piece you were looking at that night?"

The old caretaker slowly lifted his head, his worn cheeks now wet with tears, and looked into Raven's eyes, her irises in a slow, calming swirl. His hands still trembling, Alfred slowly stood up, looked back to the girl, and nodded. She took him by the hand and slowly guided him out of the library and towards the family room, with Damian following close behind.

As they walked into the family room, the fireplace was already alive with the crackle of the logs burning away. Alfred, letting go of Raven's hand, walked straight over to a nearby bookshelf, and retrieved a small binder. He opened this binder up and carefully removed a single sheet of paper before placing the binder back on the bookshelf. He turned to the ebony-haired girl and placed the sheet into her hands. The piece had been written by hand, but Martha's notation was immaculate; Raven could read everything perfectly clear. Every note, every symbol, it was all clear, save for the title at the top, which was written in what Raven assumed was Martha's handwriting:

A Study for Bruce

Raven's lips slowly slid into a gentle smile, and she took a seat at the little black bench, carefully sitting the sheet of music down on the stand in front of her. Alfred and Damian sat on the couch a few feet away facing her, Damian gently rubbing little circles into Alfred's back.

Raven closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then, looking back at the music, she began to play…

…

Bruce sat in his father's old study chair, a hand on his chin with one finger covering his mouth. All day, he kept coming back to what Alfred had said to him. He knew deep down that the butler was right; what Bruce had put them through today was completely uncalled for. And yes, he'd done it to punish them both for shirking their duties this morning… mostly. But as much as Bruce hated to admit it, he was being selfish. He was the one who sent Damian away to join the Titans, and he was the one who stripped Damian of the name Robin. He did these things out of love, to help the boy grow and mature.

But despite everything, Bruce simply didn't want Damian to grow up yet.

He'd only had the boy in his home for three years. He'd only known the boy for four and a half. But here he was. He would be sixteen this September, but he had grown in spirit so much since he left home. Bruce was afraid. Not so much afraid that the boy would get himself hurt (of course, that concern was there as well. Every parent wants to keep their child from harm). Damian knew how to fight just as well as Bruce did – by now, maybe even better. Him getting hurt was likely not going to be a problem.

What Bruce was afraid of was losing him. While he'd only been a father for four and a half years now, Bruce hadn't realized how important being a father had become to him. He loved Damian more than anything in the world. But now that Damian was becoming his own man, Bruce had been fighting some vain fight to somehow keep his son from realizing that Bruce truly had nothing left to give. And a hot wash of shame washed over Bruce as he realized that he'd purposely tried to put himself between Damian and Raven. The girl may be the real-life equivalent of Rosemary's Baby, but the fact was that she was good. She was exactly who Damian needed in his life. But in that moment, the only things Bruce saw walk into the Cave six hours late were his son, and the one who would tear his son away from him. So he lashed out.

And now, Bruce was being forced to do something he has always, always despised: say that he was sorry.

It was time for Bruce to admit that, as much as it hurt for him to do so, he had to let Damian go with Raven. Wherever the road takes the two of them, he had to let the boy go…

Bruce lifted his head, his eyes widening. Someone was playing the piano. And the piece they were playing was… why was it so familiar?

Bruce held tightly to his thoughts as he made his way to the livingroom, still in full uniform (with the exception of his cowl, which sat at his desk in the Cave). As Bruce walked into the entryway to the livingroom, he froze completely at what he found.

Immediately, his mind whisked him back to his youth. One night when Bruce was only five years old, he had a nightmare. He rushed to the Master Bedroom as fast as he could, seeking security in the arms of his beloved parents. After he told them all about what happened in his dream, his mother picked him up and carried him into the livingroom. There, with her baby boy sitting in her lap, she began to play a song on the piano before them.

It's wasn't long before little Bruce was at peace. Noticing that he was asleep, his mother lifted him up and brought him back to his bedroom, laying him back down into the bed. And every night, before she left to return to her own bed, Momma always kissed his forehead and said one thing:

"My love for you will never fade, my little White Knight."

Bruce had tried everything to regain that sense of security. He asked Alfred to play the piece. He'd taken the piece to world-class pianists. He even tried to learn to play the piano himself so he could do it. But no matter what he did, no matter where he went, it never happened.

And now, after thirty-eight painful years, it was as if his mother had returned to play for him one more time. He glanced over to Alfred, who sat upon the couch with a grateful expression on his face. He looked to Damian, whose eyes were wide with amazement and affection. At last Bruce turned to the piano to see who had finally given Bruce one more moment with his mother.

There, sitting on the little blank bench, with one of his mother's handwritten pieces in front of her, was Raven.

Alfred sighed. "… as I sat there, right where you are now, and let the final chord of that piece fade into nothing, I heard the first cries of a newborn baby, echoing through this house. I rushed to the Regency Room as fast as my legs would carry me, and… well, there they were. All three of them. My family. Master Thomas carefully placed the little one into my arms, wrapped in a blue blanket… and it felt as though I could see clearly for the first time in my life. This was Bruce Thomas Wayne… and looking back, I understand now. He was never just my charge. From the day he was born, he was my son. My only begotten son."

Damian sat quietly beside the old caretaker and smiled, taking Alfred's hand in his own. Raven turned to look back at the two she had been playing for, her smile humble but elated. Bruce took a step forward out the shadows, and into the family room.

"That was my mother's music…"

The three of them all turned to look at him, but Bruce kept his eyes squarely on Raven. Slowly, the mage girl rose to her feet and walked up to him. Looking straight ahead, Raven realized that her eyes were level with his collarbone… She remembered him being much taller. Regardless, she looked up to meet his gaze, but she could not read his emotions.

"Mr. Wayne…" Raven began timidly, "… I'm so sorry. We thought that if we gave Alfred something that made him feel a little closer to Mr. Thomas and Ms. Martha, then then he wouldn't be–"

The words she was speaking that very intact completely vanished as Bruce Wayne's arms suddenly wrapped around her.

Raven stood unmoving for a moment as Bruce held the girl just a little bit tighter.

"M… Mr. Wayne…?" Raven whispered in confusion.

"No." Bruce's voice came out gentle and calm. "No more of that, Raven. My name is Bruce. You called me by my name from now on."

Raven slowly put her arms around the elder superhero. "… y-Yes, sir."

"Raven, I'm sorry for how I acted today," Bruce continued, releasing his embrace and placing his hands on her shoulders. "I was afraid… I was afraid that you were going to take my family away from me."

"... I would never do anything to hurt your family..." The fear that had initially gripped Raven soon gave way to confusion.

"I know. And I'm sorry for seeing that until now…" Bruce looked directly into Raven's eyes. All at once, Raven could read his emotions clear as day. She felt the haze of guilt dissipate before her, and suddenly realized that the look in his eyes was no longer one of anger. This was love. Paternal love.

"But now I see it clear as day, Raven. You're one of us. You're a part of this family." A soft, welcoming smile spread across Bruce's face. "You'll always have a home here. I promise you."

After a moment of realization, Raven threw her arms around Bruce's neck, and all around the family room appeared her little twinkles of amethyst light, dancing around the room like like fireflies as she held him tighter. Damian couldn't stop smiling; this was his heart, his hope, his Raven… and his father loved her like his own. These were the two most important people in his entire world. Knowing that Raven would we welcomed into their fold was all he needed. Alfred couldn't be happier either: for forty-four years he'd been watching Bruce grow, and helped him as he built his own family. And when Damian arrived, he offered up a prayer on the boy's behalf, begging for him to find peace somehow, somewhere. And in this exact moment, Alfred knew that his prayers had been answered.