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Alfred Pennyworth: Alone

Imagine your dad(Bruce Wayne) is an absolute ass, and Alfred ends up becoming your emotional support after you go through a terrible event:

- Lil warning: sexual battery, battery, kidnapping, hints alluding to rape, Bruce is an asshole, depression, thoughts of self harm -

Being the daughter of Bruce Wayne carries a lot of weight, you are expected to be great at everything, get amazing grades, have good friends, be a good person, etc, but the truth is that you can't always be that person.

Sure, I get good grades most of the time, but they never seem to be enough for dad. My friends are great and supportive, they know all about my feelings, and they never use me because of my last name, but that doesn't mean my father approves of them. And last but not least, I am who I am, I can't be the socialite and extrovert my father wants me to be, I can't dress the way he wants me to, and I can't act the way he wants me to.

This isn't done out of rebellion, I really want to be the daughter my dad wants, I want him to be proud of me, but I just feel like a hollow shell whenever I try.

———————

Today I went to hangout with some people, I decided to try and be friends with people my father has openly approved of, but everything just feels so shallow.

They all dressed fancy, most of them wearing expensive brands. I even dressed like them in an attempt to fit in, but I felt like such a fake. Remembering my fathers look of approval when he saw me and when I told him about my plans makes me push away my discomfort, just wanting to get through the day.

We had gone out to eat after school, and now were just messing around in a park. It was getting late, and I really wanted to head home, but I don't even know where I am anymore.

I'm in a group of about 5 people, 3 of them being guys and the other 2 are girls. The guys and girls are dating, so just me and this other guy are basically third wheeling. The couples want to go to the movies, but I know they are just going to be making out, so I decline, stating I'll just wait in the park for their movie to end; the other guy also declines, stating he'll also wait.

The guy - I think his name is Chase - and I went and sat on a bench near the outskirts of the park. It was really getting dark now, and I desperately wanted to go home and curl up in my bed and forget about this day, but Chase simply will not stop talking. He's actually not that annoying, and he's not half bad to look at with his brown hair swept to the side, his green eyes looking at me intently.

I stand up and Chase stops talking, his expression almost looking irritated that I interrupted.

"I think I'll be heading home now." For a moment I glimpsed anger flashing through his eyes, but it was gone just as immediately, instead being replaced by an extravagant smile.

"Sure, I'll walk you to your bus stop." I almost feel like blushing, but he probably only offered because I'm a young girl alone in Gotham at night. I smile instead, and say 'thank you' before beginning my walk to the bus stop. It's not too far, only about a half mile walk, but as we pass an alley, Chase motions for me to follow him though it, stating it was a shortcut.

I don't feel comfortable, I don't like alleys in the first place, adding in the fact that it's night makes it even worse. I go to tell Chase no, but looking into the alley I realize I can't see him anymore. Fear surges within me, is he okay? Where did he go? I hesitantly step into the alley when I hear him urgently shouting my name.

I run to his voice, hoping to see that he's okay, but as I turn into a corner within the alley I'm quickly shoved into the rough brick wall. My head is aching in pain, as well as my back. I try to shove the person away, but they secure my hands with theirs, their chest grazing against mine. I don't know what's happening, I can't tell who this is because it's so dark.

I can feel the tears running down my cheeks as one of their hands gropingly wanders over my body.

"Oh, don't tell me you're crying." That mocking voice stabs me, betrayal radiating through my bones. That voice belongs to Chase, I feel like fighting and dying at the same time.

My free hand acts without thought, a loud smack ringing through the tense silence. He seems stunned, but he soon reacts in violence as well, punching my lower abdomen, my body hunching over. He gives me no time to suffer, as he pulls my body back up, holding my face up with one hand and delivering a forceful punch with the other.

I can't remember much after that other than falling to the ground, the last thing I saw was him walking towards me with a sickening grin.

———————

Pain radiates through my body, everything ached, but my pelvis and hips felt like they were  burning. My shoulder stings, and my face felt like I had been beat; my eyes aren't even open, yet I already want to go back to sleep.

It's only when the memories of last night resurface that I jump awake, my body feels like its being torn in half, but I ignore it, instead hastily surveying my surroundings. It's still dark, though how late, I do not know.

It takes me a few more moments to realize that my clothes are strewn across the floor, it's at this moment when the sickening feeling strongly radiating through both my body and mind finally makes sense. The intense need to vomit sweeping over me.

My eyes flood with tears as I hastily put my clothes on, it hurts to move but I really need to get home. I walk to the bus stop, paranoia running rampant within me, I find myself flinching at anything and everything.

I look at the clock in the bus and realize it's 11pm, I was supposed to be home by 8pm at the latest. I look at myself through my phone camera, attempting to fix my hair and clothes so that my father doesn't realize what happened to me; knowing him he would probably just be angry with me.

I shakily exit the bus, just walking hurts so much, but I put on a neutral expression, entering my home slowly. The lights are off, maybe he went to sleep early for once?

Those thoughts of hope are sharply stripped away when the cold light filters through the room.

"Where have you been, young lady?" I lower my head subconsciously, knowing I'm in trouble. I keep myself facing the door, I don't need him seeing my tear-streaked face, he'll probably just shout at me.

"I was just hanging out with my friends." I try to make it sound like I did nothing wrong, but I know it's just making him angrier.

"You were supposed to be home by 8pm, mind telling me what you were doing till 11 at night." His tone is becoming sharper and more demanding, this tone always leads to him yelling at me. That's honestly the last thing I need him to do, but what am I going to say, 'Hey dad, will you please not yell at me?' Yah, he'll probably scream if I say that.

I maintain my silence, hoping he'll just send me to my room.

"I asked you a question." I stay silent, praying that he'll just drop the conversation.

"LOOK AT ME!" His tone is deep with anger, his shout reverberating through the halls. He slammed his hand against the door, right near my head. I jump in surprise, but refuse to look at him out of both fear and self-preservation.

I can feel his glare deepen as he backs away from me, his sigh of frustration letting me know his shouting is done.

"Go to your room, you're grounded for two months." I don't argue, I don't fight, I simply nod my head and shuffle away, trying to hide my limp as I head to my room.

It's only after sitting on my bed for a few minutes that I finally let silent tears fall. Everything I do is wrong, and the one thing I do that makes him happy ended up being the worst decision of my life.

Maybe I should just stop trying.

———————

It's around 4 in the morning, I've been trying to go to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I think of when he... when he... oh never mind. The memories are fresh and refusing to yield, so I've taken to pacing around my room, just walking back and forth and back and forth, sometimes accidentally running into my bookshelves.

Normally on a night like this I would be tucked away reading my favorite book, but everything I do right now just feels so out of place.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even realize that Alfred had knocked on my door and opened it when I didn't respond. I only noticed when his hand lightly touched my shoulder, which caused a massive reaction.

I almost screamed, but it came out more as a fearful whimper; my entire body jumping away, my feet taking a few steps back to gain distance. My eyes are wide and distraught, scared of who would be in my room, but I calm slightly when I realize it's only Alfred.

He looks surprised, well, that's putting it lightly. He looked more shocked at my reaction, almost looking suspiciously at me.

"Please forgive my intrusion Y/N, I simply wanted to check on you. You've been pacing for a while." His voice furthers my ease, but I also feel guilt tightening my chest. I forgot Alfred's room is below mine, I must've been walking loudly, and I guarantee that me running into a bookcase isn't quiet.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to awaken you." Alfred's always been like an uncle to me, he's helped raise me, and he's always supported me in being myself.

"Do you mind telling me about that bruise?" His question startles me, I wasn't expecting that question, mainly because I wasn't aware I had a bruise. My eyes widen, and I quickly rush away into my bathroom, turning on the lights and gazing in horror at the purple splotch that was darkly forming over my left cheekbone.

I can't handle it anymore, I lean back against the wall, covering my eyes with my hands as I cry. I slowly slide down to the floor, bending my legs up and hiding my face against them as I sob.

Alfred walks over to my clearly distraught form, kneeling down and observing me for a few seconds. It didn't take him long to put it together, the bruised face, the red marks on my wrists, my tangled hair, the fact that I had thrown away my clothes from this night and replaced them with clothes that drowned my figure.

He sighs in silent anger, not at me, but at the disgusting person that did this to me.

He slowly pulls me into his side, and I welcome his fatherly response, crying against him as he whispers to me everything will be alright.

———

I don't know how long we stayed like that until I fell asleep, awakening the next morning in bed to see a note from Alfred saying to come to the kitchen for some pain killers and an ice pack, and that we would be having a chat over breakfast.

I'm scared, scared that I'll have to relive the memories of last night, but I'm also thankful. Thankful that someone like Alfred cares about me like how my real father should.

'There's nothing more contagious than laughter' 🖤🃏#picoftheday #instagood #joker #batman #gotham #jerome #jeromevaleska #cameronmonaghan #love #pink #crazy #brucewayne #mad #laugh #milat #italy (presso Cologno Monzese, Italy)

It’s gotten out of hand 😭🤚 @graveswithadot @mybrainisoveractive

Jason never says how much things like this mean to him. Partially because that will reveal more about who he is than he wants Bruce to know. He knows that he's dead in some of his family's are they really a family anymore? eyes, or at least the Jason they loved is. For the past years, he'd been living as a ghost. Mostly left to his own devices as long as too many bodies didn't drop where the rest could see. And he'd gotten good about cleaning up behind himself. He hasn't taken off the helmet and it hides his smile when the other agrees, actually looks at him. It feels like that doesn't happen much, but he remembers the man isn't really seeing his face right now, scarred with a deep arc running from the corner of his lips, over his eye, towards his hairline-- looking a bit too much like a J. Of course the moment ends quickly. And the smile turns to a scowl beneath the guarding layer Jason wears as he looks back. "I'm starting to think your lead here is shit, B... If I focus much longer, I'm gonna start seein' shit."

@redhoodedtodd sent:

❛ working together again, it’s just like old times. ❜

𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

    🦇—-;; There is a nostalgic part of him that misses the days he no longer can have with Jason, that boy had died, and had been replaced with a man Bruce struggles to see eye to eye to on the best of days. Not for lack of trying, there is too much of a divide between them for that. That doesn't mean that Batman doesn't at least appreciate it when Red Hood is working by his side again. Bruce can't help the tender part of him that surfaces each time, having to remind himself that this will likely be short lived.

Still, the words out of Jason's mouth bring that nostalgic warmth a bit further forward. Bruce isn't quite able to catch the slight uptick of the corner of his mouth, though it's gone less than a second later before he huffs, shifting slightly before he looked at Jason properly. "It is." He agrees.

Quietly, to himself, he wonders if Jason misses those days as much as he does, but...he knows better than to ask. He is nothing, if not a sentimental old man at heart. He clears his throat and looks forward again, white lenses narrowing briefly. "We should focus." He says, gesturing to why they're here, working together in the first place.

It wasn't all Bruce's fault; Jason knew that. Of course he did. Bruce didn't make him break more laws than the Batman's morality allowed. He didn't make Jason stay away from the Wayne Manor, the one place that ever really felt like home to the man. No, that was Jason's doing. It was his choices, his own stubbornness, but something felt innately wrong about going home when things had soured so much between the Joker still breathing and the replacement child that was still allowed to fight after one soldier was already lost.

"Lemme guess, the sources were dragged up the side of a goddamn building crying for their moms," he snorted, knowing that Bruce-- despite his distaste for Jason's methods-- could be more than a little rough when he wanted information out of far more distasteful men.

A huff of breath and he glares back at the street, seeing the cars. "Not bored... restless," he grumbled out, slowly standing from the crouch. There was no grapple gun. Jason was well aware how far he could jump and land on his feet like some cursed to hell cat. Cursed didn't begin to cover it. "When do we move."

  🦇—-;; Bruce tone was a little lighter, despite shifting the focus back to the case, indicating he had at least been in something of a similar situation, leaning a bit on the large part of himself that missed the way things used to be. And sure, he'd like to go back to that, or whatever the new version of that was, like they were doing now, more often, stubbornness tended to get in the way of all that. That didn't mean Bruce didn't miss his son any less, his son working at his side. He'd tell Jason as much if he thought he could get away with it, but he'd been living with that strained bond since Jason had returned to Gotham. Maybe it's the part of him that still blames himself for what happened in Ethiopia. He hasn't breathed a word about that since he first found out the Red Hood's identity.

He shakes his head a little, "the source of this lead was reliable enough." He wouldn't have dragged Jason out this far without at least double-checking his sources. And sure a handful of mob enforcers weren't all that reliable on their own when being interrogated by the Bat, but they had all mentioned the same place. Bruce's hand flexes, clawed fingers moving to the side of the cowl briefly, adjusting the vision mode in the cowl manually.

As his hand lowered from the side of his face, his thumb found the scar on his own lip, faint as it was from how old it was, but it traced it regardless before he looked at his hand and then back out across the way, listening briefly. "We can move soon, if you're starting to get bored, Hood." Bruce's tone takes that slight sarcastic tone, gentle in the way he does with only family. Broken bond aside, Jason is, and always will be his son.

"There's a couple of cars that just pulled up with no plates." He says, looking at Jason again. "My lead isn't entirely rubbish." Bruce shrugged before bringing his hands up to crack his knuckles, then reached for the grapple gun on his belt.

All I did was give you direction. He almost has to laugh at that and amusement plays on his expression, those pale blues pinning Bruce in a narrow gaze that says he doesn't quite trust all that is said. "You gave me a lot more than direction, B."

Part of him wanted to say too much. Part of him wanted to tell the man he wished Robin and Batman didn't exist. But another part knows if Batman hadn't been on the streets, Jason himself... wouldn't have lasted. He would've tumbled through the East End to an obscure grave put together by the Gotham Memorial Morgue. A too young John Doe with no one to remember who the hell he was.

So how can he really be ungrateful... and can he really say it was all bad?

A huff of a laugh comes out and Jason turns the domino mask in his hand, casting his gaze out across the city from the high perch. "I know you are, in your own damn way..." Otherwise, Jason wouldn't be allowed to run free like he did. He understood there was something keeping him out of Blackgate or Arkham, and it sure as hell wasn't Grayson. "Still. Guess it's nice to hear it."

@redhoodedtodd sent:

you taught me how to protect myself.

PROMPTS FOR FEELING SAFE / EXPRESSING COMFORT

    🦇—-;; Of course, Bruce knows his boys are capable, he'd trained them, taught them the skills they needed to survive at the Bat's side and eventually flourish into their own people out of his shadow. Yet, he feels as if he'd failed Jason, though not through lack of teaching, but by simply not being there fast enough to protect him when he should have been. Jason's words do not soften that guilt any, no matter how much Bruce tells himself that it's true, and he knows how capable he is. But that one failure is going to be a mark on that until Bruce learns to let the guilt go.

Still, regardless of that, a smile, small as it is, curls the corners of his mouth. "Of course I did, but you had that potential within you the whole time, Jason. All I did was give it a direction." Perhaps it's wrong of him to downplay the significance of his choice to take Jason under his wing, to mentor him like he had with Dick. Even if sometimes Bruce wonders if it had been the right choice, it's not as if he'd change that.

"I...I am proud of what you are capable of." He might not like all of it, the things that went against everything he'd taught the boy, but at the same time, he was not angry about it. He finds it difficult to be angry about it. However, right now, he simply hopes his words were not crossing over any boundaries.