I'm aware this is a years old movie now, but I literally saw Nolan's Batman Trilogy two weeks ago and while I'm not a huge fan of second and third parts, I fell in love with the first one, with Batman Begins - mostly with Bruce Wayne character arc and development and with his dynamics with Alfred. That's why I decided to have this little side quest and write a bit of those two.

The story is set after the final fight between Batman and Ra's al Ghoul.

While this year's whumptober list is for me the least inspiring from those I participated in, I still managed to fill in some prompts:
- no. 5 - debris
- no. 13 - "I don't feel so good"
- no. 15 - "I'm fine"
- no. 20 - found family

Holding it together

It was time to head home, thought Bruce wearily as he nearly missed the balcony he aimed for and his ribs crashed against the metal railing. He dragged himself up with more effort than he wished to admit and for a moment he simply sat there in the shadows, trying to catch his breath.

The crisis was not yet over, but the worst had been stopped, the threat of poisoning the entire city no longer looming over them. Not all the policemen on the island had been exposed to the toxin and soon enough Gordon was able to contact with those unaffected and started organising the hunt for escaped prisoners. Some of the SWAT teams had masks at their disposal, so they could move safely and spread out.

Bruce wanted to help. He did, at first, but the more organised the police was, the harder it was for him to both help and avoid being cornered. He already ran out of cords and wires he could use to bind the prisoners he caught, and as he handed the last one over to the nearest patrol, they tried to catch him as well. And nearly succeeded.

It had been long three days and right now he could feel every hour wearing him down. He had spent a great deal of that time unconscious or delirious and while the effects of the toxins had finally subdued, he lacked real rest. There was definitely blood dripping down his side and while his Batman suit protected his ribs now from serious damage, the suit Bruce Wayne had worn at his party certainly had not. The growing pain at the back of his head suggested that the meeting with manor floor had not been gentle either.

Alfred had only cleaned and wrapped the wound at his side and the burns from the log on his arms, before Bruce had put on his suit and left to stop the city from destruction. Wincing at the steadily growing pressure in his temples, Bruce wished for another dose of whatever Alfred had forced him to drink before leaving. It had cleared his head and helped him focus. Then, he guessed, adrenaline did its job and kept him up. But even a trained body like his could only work this long on adrenaline alone. It was time to head home.

Not that he had one currently, but at least the cave was secure, so he still had a place to lay low for a few hours. And Alfred was safe there. The thought pushed Bruce to move. This time he couldn't afford asking Alfred to come and pick him up. He stood up, swaying slightly as the headache intensified. His tumbler was waiting nearby, just a few blocks away. It was high time to leave, before his vehicle got noticed or worse, trapped.

Stumbling and keeping to the shadows, he made it to the car and slipped behind the wheel with a relieved sigh. He knew one of the bridges had been lowered down to allow fire brigades to join in and work on the fires caused by the explosions and the fallen train.

The way out was a bit troublesome, but not nearly as spectacular as his mad escape earlier that day, the one Alfred had chastised him for. Perhaps Gordon had a hand in it, thought Bruce as he passed the cordon blocking the bridge and headed outside the city. He slumped a bit in his seat and slowed down once he was sure no one tried to chase him. He needed to stay focused.

Finally the tumbler reached the cave and the engine stopped roaring. Bruce let go of the wheel and simply sat, eyes closed.

The doors opened soon enough, though, and mildly concerned Alfred leaned over him.

"Come now, Master Bruce. You're a bit too old for falling asleep in the car."

"In a minute." Bruce flashed him a tired smile, then accepted his outstretched hand. He stumbled out and immediately leaned back against the car, clutching at his right side. He didn't remember it hurting this much before.

"A bit too big for me to carry you too, if I may say so." Alfred lost nothing of his usual calm and despite claiming otherwise, he wrapped his arm around Bruce like he had had a few hours ago and led him deeper into the cave, to the smaller, less exposed parts that had been changed into Batman's working place.

Alfred let him lean against a table as he helped him strip off his suit, then pushed him down to a stool. Before Bruce knew it, he had a glass full of some sizzling drink in his hand.

"What's this?" He asked after already downing half of the contents in two long gulps. The taste seemed familiar.

"For now? Just some electrolytes. I hope you at least managed to have a decent meal during the party, because there is nothing down here except those snacks you insist on bringing."

"Help yourself," Bruce muttered distractedly as he fumbled with soaked and wrinkled bandages around his side. "I'm not hungry." If anything, he was getting dizzy and slightly nauseous from both pain and exhaustion.

"No, I don't expect you to be, sir, but at least let's keep you hydrated."

Bruce hummed in agreement and closed his eyes again. It was probably the one place and the one person with whom he could allow himself to relax like that – at least as much as his injuries allowed him. He felt Alfred clean the wound at his side, then the oozing blisters at his forearms, aggravated by the tight suit. The burns were not deep, fortunately, but a few hours in a closed, humid environment did them no good, so it seemed reasonable that they were now left exposed to dry.

"I'd rather stitch that," Alfred prodded carefully the gash at Bruce's side. "And this looks worse than your usual bruises, sir. How is your breathing?"

"Manageable." Bruce shivered at the sudden cold feeling, then sighed as the local anaesthetic Alfred used numbed the wound and the sore area around. "I just need to sleep it over."

"I doubt that, but that's a start. No, but don't fall asleep just yet, sir, or you'll likely just fall from that stool. Why don't you tell me what exactly happened out there? You know how news can't be trusted."

Knowing that Alfred would insist on keeping him awake one way or another, Bruce filled him in with the night's events as the butler stitched the wound with more ease and practice that one would expect from a person of his occupation. Soon the darkening bruises were covered in salve and his side neatly bandaged.

"It's best we stay here till morning and see if the city has settled by then, at least outside the island," Bruce finished with a wince and massaged the aching back of his head. God, he needed sleep.

"You could always try upside-down like your little friends over there, sir, but I hate to think what it would do to your blood circulation." Alfred's dry remark made him realise he had said the last thing out loud. "I'd suggest the armchair."

Bruce nodded and moved slowly to slump in an old armchair they had brought for Alfred once, since he himself usually worked by the tables or by the computer. Now that he no longer had to be alert and his old friend no longer poked and prodded at his injuries, Bruce found himself shivering.

He blinked in surprise when Alfred, instead of handing him a jumper or a working jacket, tossed a thick blanket over him and tucked him in. Bruce certainly had no recollection of having anything like that down here in the cave, but over the last few months Alfred had brought a lot of old stuff from the manor, unused in the empty rooms.

"Thank you."

Alfred smiled. "No need for you to catch a cold on top of all that, sir. You're a handful without sneezing."

"I know." Bruce returned his smile. Though he was far from truly comfortable in the armchair, his body yearning some decent rest, it was better than trying to settle on the stone floor or at a working table. Keeping his eyes open was suddenly becoming a losing battle, one he no longer needed to fight.

xxx

Despite his general discomfort, he must have nodded off at some point, because he jerked awake with a vague dread of a dream already escaping his memory and a groan he couldn't suppress. Bruce leaned forwards, one arm wrapped protectively around his side, trying not to cough. His throat felt dry.

There was a glass of water in his hand the next moment and he drank greedily.

"How is your breathing now, sir?"

"It was fine," Bruce rasped and leaned back again. "I'm fine," he tried to correct himself, but it was too late.

"Was?"

"Don't worry, Alfred. I'm just... Sore." That was slowly becoming a vast understatement. He was no stranger to being bruised and sore after a training or after a night escapade as Batman, but in the last few hours he had gone from discomfort to pain radiating from his side with the slightest movement.

The way Alfred looked at him reminded Bruce of the look the butler used to give him when he was a child, usually when he was trying to provide some kind of muddy explanation to his not-so-proper behaviour. Alfred would have had none of that then and certainly it had not changed over the years.

"Alright. Dress up a bit, Master Wayne. We are going for X-ray."

"What?" The wounded shot his head up. "Bruce Wayne cannot show up in a hospital like that. I'll be fine."

Alfred would have none of it now either, obviously. "This time Bruce Wayne has every right to show up in a hospital like that," he gave his employer a pointed look. "This time Bruce Wayne got scandalously drunk and burned down his house. Who knows what else happened."

This was not a fight Bruce wished to fight now. And Alfred was right. Perhaps his bruised ribs had turned into cracked at some point. Or broken.

Making himself more or less presentable with limited options they had in the cave turned out a bit problematic since Bruce kept mostly working clothes down there. Still, the butler managed to find a pair of relatively clean dark jeans and a few shirts. He picked the best of them with mild disgust.

"God knows how you're going to explain that," Alfred shook his head, looking at dark oil stains on the sleeves.

Despite his aching side, Bruce found himself chuckling. "How would I know? I was drunk," he said and sent Alfred a crooked smile. He put on the shirt and stood up, glad that he was actually more steady than he felt. "What time is it?"

"Six thirty. Let's go, sir."

"What an ungodly hour," Bruce sighed dramatically and tossed his wallet and phone into his jeans. "But since you insist…"

The lift, even if the mechanism above survived the fire – which was unlikely, would have led them right to the smouldering ruins. Climbing up the old well was out of option, so the only way out left for them was through the waterfall and then back to the manor grounds.

Bruce chose not to be surprised when Alfred picked an umbrella from yet another pile of things that had miraculously made it down to the cave. The butler held it open for both of them as they made it through the waterfall. The tumbler had to jump over a small canyon to get into the cave, but there was a path leading up to the manor level, if one knew where to look for it.

"Careful, Alfred. It's slippery."

Bruce moved to lead, picking the best way and offering Alfred a hand now and then. Once or twice it was the butler who saved him from slipping when a deeper breath made him almost bend in half. But once they made it up the path and through the bushes to the open ground around the manor, Bruce felt like his heart skipped a beat or two.

The house was gone. Yesterday the fire seemed unreal, like a dream his dazed brain procured, feeding on old memories, now buried deep. But now it was just a pile of fallen stones and smouldering beams, burned down almost to the ground.

Bruce remembered well what he had told Alfred more than once, the harsh words of an angry, still grieving boy or then a young man. For years this place had been all but a painful reminder of the happy life that had ended that fateful day in the dark alley. There was a reason why Bruce Wayne had spent seven years on the other side of the world. But over the last few months, this place began to finally feel like his. He never truly realised how much he had missed home until he started making it his own. And now it was gone, along with everything left of his parents.

His breathing hitched despite his efforts and Bruce leaned slightly, clutching at his side. The next moment a familiar, calloused hand rested on his shoulder.

"One thing at a time, Master Bruce." The old butler said with his usual firmness. "Let's get you properly sorted first, then we can worry about the house."

It was impossible not to return his gentle smile.

Alfred's car was just where he had left it, untouched. As soon as it was opened, Bruce slipped in the back seat, trying not to pant too obviously.

"If anyone asks, we spent the night in car as you dreaded going into the city," he said when the butler started the engine.

"If I may suggest something, sir," Alfred looked at him pointedly in the back mirror, "if you get bored in the queue, you might start thinking about all the apologies you're going to make. I got at least three phone calls before I came back yesterday. I've been told you've made quite a spectacle of yourself, and not a respectable one."

"I had no choice," Bruce objected. "I needed them gone before things got out of hand."

"I know, sir. But Bruce Wayne cannot just shut himself from society like that."

"This is going to be fun," muttered Bruce with a wince, then it hit him. "Phone calls? Really? And here I thought I was no longer ten for people to call you if I misbehaved."

"You'd be surprised, sir," Alfred chuckled.

Bruce decided not to dwell on that matter. Instead they talked about the most pressing issues, starting with booking a hotel and buying some necessities. The matters of renting or buying an apartment, resolving the issues with Wayne Enterprise and organising restoration of the manor could wait. Alfred was right, one thing at a time.

Soon enough they stopped by the hospital and Bruce left the car, wondering already how long it would take for the press to sniff him out here. He dismissed Alfred's offer to accompany him; the less fuss, the better.

"Alfred?" Bruce stopped before the butler drove away.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do get some decent sleep before you come pick me up. You look like you need it. I'll be fine here."

"As you wish, sir."