𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐘𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇

Alfred Pennyworth Primarily inspired by Fox's Gotham and headcanons, with some influences drawn from the Nolan movies. This blog includes mentions of potentially triggering topics, such as blood, death, guns, and violence. All triggers are tagged. Written by Sophie Part of GothamStreetsHQ

[butlermate]

Is that [Sean Pertwee]? No, that’s [Alfred Pennyworth], AKA [N.A.]! [He] appears to be [59]. [He] has the abilities of [army training and general weapons mastery] which makes them a powerful [civilian].

Partly because I wanted to join the cool Batfam gang, and also because I love Alfred, and need an outlet for my Britishness, I have decided to pick up everyone's favourite butler. I will warn you from the outset that my knowledge of comic lore is next to none, so I am relying on everyone to fill me on stuff I need to know. My inspiration is drawn 90% from Gotham, and 10% from the Nolan movies, because who doesn't love Michael Caine? With that being said, here is Alfred's backstory, edited a little from Gotham to make it gel with wider Batman lore:

Alfred was born in Whitechapel, London. This was the London of Edward Heath, with civil unrest and strikes occurring regularly. The Pennyworth family always struggled to make ends meet. Everyone did, in those days. It was a hard life -- a tough one -- and Alfred learned that early.

As a boy, he attended grey-brick comp school. He left as soon as he could, and enlisted in the SAS at 18.

Life in the army was brutal. But it was the making of Alfred Pennyworth. He learned how to follow orders, how to be a good soldier, how to fire a gun, how to take a beating, and how to give as good as you got. As a member of 23 Special Air Service Regiment, he undertook secret missions for Her Majesty's government. Dark stuff. Stuff that would make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Stuff that would give your nightmare's nightmares.

He stuck it out for several years, but he knew he couldn't stick it out forever. It would be the bloody death of him. So, he left the army. But you might be able to take a bloke out of the SAS, but you can't get rid of his memories. Alfred was a wreck after he left the service. He got blackout drunk most nights, just to forget the horrors he'd seen, and when he wasn't doing that, he was picking fights with the toughest guys he could find, just to do something.

One night, he woke up in an alley covered in blood. No sodding idea how it got there. So, he went to the closest nick to turn himself in. That was where he met Thomas Wayne, the man who would set him straight and turn his life around. Thomas asked him why he was there, and Alfred replied, "stuff that I was too frightened to even think about." Rather than leave him sitting in the police station, as any sane person would, Thomas asked him to get a drink with him. Who was Alfred to turn down an offer like that? So, he didn't go to jail that night. Instead, he went to a bar with Thomas Wayne.

To cut a long story short, Thomas offered Alfred a job. Alfred's never worked out why. Maybe Thomas knew he needed a butler with something about him, working in Gotham City. Maybe he took pity on him. Whatever the reason, Alfred saw this for the good opportunity it was, and he took it. What was left for him in his home city? The army had done sod all to help him after he'd left. His parents were both dead. So, he moved to America.

He's worked for the Wayne family ever since then. It's done him good. He stood by Thomas and Martha Wayne as they tried to make Gotham a better place. He helped raised Bruce when his parents were away. In a lot of ways, he was the boy's role model. He taught him how to fight, how to defend himself, and how to strategise.

Now, Bruce is Batman and Alfred is a guardian to the children Bruce picks up from the streets. He loves them as if they're his own sons. He keeps an eye over all the antics Bruce gets up to, and offers advice where he can, whether it's taken or not.

[darkjustice]

"Alfred --" Bruce stepped forward, the mask slipping just for a second. The flash of concern in his eyes, the real fear gripping his chest. But everyone was fine, he said. He was steady on his feet, didn't seem ill or... Bruce didn't understand, couldn't process the words for a moment. They hung in the air above them, he felt the moment right before they hit him. That final second before his life flipped on its axis.

"That's not possible," Bruce said, shaking his head. He loosened his tie, fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. But his eyes met his friend's, his oldest and dearest confidant, the one person who truly knew him -- the one person he would always trust, with everything. Alfred was no fool. And Alfred would never lie to him, certainly not about something like this. He would say it if he was sure. "We should verify it," Bruce said after a moment. He shucked off his jacket and tossed it on a chair as he walked into the study. "Did he touch anything in the house? We can check the fingerprints." He set a hand on the desk, just his fingertips touching the wood. Just barely, but enough to keep him steady while the world rocked under him. He stared over at an empty, unlit fireplace. Impeccably clean and gleaming black spikes. No wood stacked in it, just an empty hole. A darkness that Bruce felt all too familiar with.

"I felt him die, Alfred. I felt the warmth leave his body. If this isn't him -- if it's some trick or trap, I.... I don't know what I'll do." He smirked, and plucked a tablet off his desk. Flicked through a few screens to call up the surveillance system. "But it won't be pretty. It might even be decidedly ugly." His eyes met Alfred's. There were so many half-strung together questions in his mind, but he couldn't detangle them all. Couldn't begin to understand it. So he pushed it down, down and away. "Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me everything?"

[butlermate]

That's not possible. Alfred laughed a hollow laugh. "Sir, anything is possible in Gotham," he replied. He met Bruce's gaze, and could fancy he saw the professional mask flicker just for a second. They both wore masks, though Bruce's was more literal most of the time. Alfred knew it. Thomas Wayne had known it. He knew the man Alfred had been, before, back in London. All the yes sir and Master so-and-so and the pocket handkerchief and the pressed suit stuff was part of his own mask. A mixture of things he'd learned in the army, and things he'd picked up from growing up in Whitechapel, rubbing shoulders with men who were just passing through on their commute to London proper.

Bruce said they should verify it, and immediately headed for the study. Alfred followed. "I made him a cuppa," he replied. "I left the mug in the sink." He wasn't surprised Bruce wanted to check. He'd meant what he'd said, that anything was possible in this city, but he also knew from experience that things like this were usually too good to be true. Bruce put a hand on the desk to steady himself, but Alfred didn't go to his side. He knew it wasn't what Master Wayne needed. He needed distance, to think this through. He knew he would have been doing exactly the same thing, had he not seen and held Jason for himself.

"For what it's worth, I don't think it's a trick," he replied, seriously. "I couldn't believe it either, but I was as close to him as I am to you now. I drove the lad here. I talked to him --" He cut himself off, knowing he needed to explain what had happened from the beginning, as Bruce had asked. He sighed, paused, gathered his thoughts, and spoke again.

"I was on my way back to the car. There was a boy in front of me, on the pavement, with his back to me. He seemed reluctant to turn around. He told me to avoid some corner or other. I can't remember where. Was doing a real good job of avoiding eye contact, even when he turned to face me, and he tried to shuffle past, but I saw him." His voice broke a little, and, like Bruce had, he paused, pushed the emotion down. It was just a story. A report. Like he was reporting a mission, way back when. "It was Jason. No mistaking him. His hair had white streaks in it, like he'd dyed it, but it was him. I reached out and grabbed his arm, and he was really there. Tried to fob me off and tell me he didn't know who the bloody hell I was. Had a real good go at it too. He even put on an accent." He smiled sadly, and kept talking. "But it was him. It was chucking it down, so I put up my umbrella, and led him to the car. Before you say anything, sir, I know that was bloody stupid of me. But if you'd have seen him standing there, soaked through like that, you would have done the same."

[plxntbasedbitch]

A faint smile touched her lips as she saw his posture change. It seemed that the edge to her tone had struck home, although, comparatively speaking, she was far gentler with him than she usually was with men who irritated her. Was it her fault, though, that men tended to be so…well, irritating? When he apologized, she shrugged delicately, indicating that she had let it go. 

She let go of his hand. “Oh?” she said, as though the movements of Bruce Wayne actually interested her. “I hope he’s finding time to enjoy himself, at least. I assume he still works as hard as ever.” Another brief smile. She gave the plants another gentle caress, smiling with far more genuine warm as she watched them turn, so incrementally it could be from the hint of a breeze, toward her. “Oh, I work at the botanical gardens now,” she said. “They support my research.”

[butlermate]

Dr Isley said that she hoped Bruce was enjoying himself, and Alfred smiled tightly. "Oh, he does," he said. "But I'm sure he's finding time for himself." When she turned away from him to study the plants, he noticed a change in her expression -- her eyes lit up, and he could have sworn she relaxed a little. He watched her curiously, but didn't comment on it. "Oh yeah?" he asked politely. "What research is that?" He couldn't recall why Bruce had insisted she leave Wayne Enterprises. Too much had happened since then to remember a disgruntled former employee's grievances. But he had a feeling it was to do with her research.

[thejokerswilde]

The butler was beginning to agitate him. In the same way a pestering fly might buzz in his ear. "You must not be all that close then." He responded easily. "Especially considering he left in a hurry." Jeremiah let out a sigh, "Is Bruce Wayne home? I'd love to speak with Bruce. I'm sure he'll have a clue where his ward ran off to." Jeremiah asked, glancing around the old man at the door to peer into the rest of the home. Wayne Manor was huge. It stretched out endlessly and seemed to be decked out like a medieval castle. He whistled, a sharp sudden note.

"When we were kids, it was a new city every week... but the same ol' fair grounds." He said, pulling back a bit and standing up straight. Placing his hands behind his back in a mocking position. Meeting Alfred's eyes as well as his pose. "Even with a dozen tents, trailers and giant cages for the elephants, you tend to feel like your world's a little small. I'm glad Dick ended up somewhere... bigger... And so regal and fancy. Now why would someone run away from a place like this?" He posed the question thoughtfully.

"Consider me offended." Jeremiah replied after a moment, "I understand the stares. I do... but Jerome slaughtered police on live television. He's a lunatic... and I will not be compared to him. You're not giving me much of a chance and we both know if I gave you my number, you would not forward it along to my friend. Could you take out your phone, Mr. Pennyworth? Surely you have Dick's number... you can just airdrop me the contact. It's either this, or I come in and wait however long I need to; to speak with Bruce."

[butlermate]

Jeremiah said he mustn't have been close with Dick, and Alfred clenched his jaw in irritation. It wasn't this lad's fault he was related to that lunatic Jerome, of course, but there was something about him that set alarm bells off in Alfred's head, the kind the service had taught him never to ignore. "Blimey, you don't take a hint, do you, son?" he asked in an uncharacteristically rough tone, more reminiscent of his time back in London than the voice he used these days. "Master Wayne is at a press conference, I'm afraid. And, if you must know, the reason your old friend left in such a hurry is personal." He didn't elaborate.

When Jeremiah moved away a little, and copied his posture, Alfred could tell he was taking the mick. He wondered aloud why Dick would run away, and Alfred glared at him. "No offence, mate," he said. "But that's none of your business. Old friend of Master Grayson's or not, I don't know you from Adam." With every word out of Jeremiah's mouth, Alfred's suspicions and dislike only grew. Far from telling Dick his old friend had dropped by, he was now planning to warn the boy away. What Dick did was none of his business anymore, but he couldn't shake his paternal instinct.

At last, Jeremiah asked him to take out his phone and give him Dick's number. It's either this, or I come in and wait however long I need to. Alfred knew a threat when he heard one, and he half wanted to tell the boy to try it. It would have been stupidly unprofessional, and he couldn't even understand why he was so angry. It wasn't just that the lad looked like Jerome -- though that had started it. His pushy demeanour, his insistence, his mocking stance, all rubbed Alfred up the wrong way. He met the boy's gaze, and considered telling him to just try to get into Wayne Manor. But it lasted for only a split second. He was considering decking a teenager? Bloody hell. He put it down to the stress of seeing Jason again, and pushed the feelings aside.

"As a matter of fact, I do have his number," he said, tearing his gaze away from Jeremiah's. He reached into his blazer pocket and withdrew his phone. "You're bloody insistent, Mister Valeska. Has anyone ever told you that?" He opened his list of contacts, scrolled down to Dick's number, and waited for Jeremiah to take out his own phone.

[all-blades]

He can't believe he's going through with this. But it's too late to run now, Alfred's already holding the door open. This is... fine. He may not be prepared for this, because this situation wasn't involved with the rest of his meticulous planning. Bruce wasn't home. Wasn't in Gotham for awhile still, and he had already accounted for that.

So. This is fine, actually. At least in regards to his plans continuing the way they should. He can have tea with Alfred and crawl back into one of his safe houses without compromising anything. He's not sure what Alfred is expecting from him. He'll probably be quickly disappointed, regardless. Nothing can go back to the way it used to be.

He still considers bolting here and now. He shoves the feeling down, and manages a lopsided smile as he climbs into the car. "...Thanks. Sounds good, Alf."

He better not be hoping for anything but a silent car ride. Ghosts don't make for great conversationalists.

[butlermate]

It was all Alfred could do to keep walking, his hand gently on Jason's arm to guide him and stop him bolting. He could feel the tension in the boy's body, and knew he was considering running. It didn't take a bloody genius to work that out. But they reached the car, and Alfred opened the door for him in an achingly familiar way. Jason thanked him, and it was like nothing had happened, like no time had passed. But it had, and Alfred suddenly felt such an absurd sense of nostalgia and longing that he closed the car door with a slam and quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Pull yourself together, mate," he muttered to himself. "Time and place." He sniffed once, and walked around the car to the driver's side, got in, and pulled away from the pavement. Jason didn't say anything as they drove off, and Alfred decided not to break the silence. The lad clearly needed to think. He held in the countless questions he had, about where Jason had been, what had happened to him, why he hadn't come home. It could wait.

They spent the ride in silence. Alfred didn't put on the radio, or make conversation. He could sit in silence for hours. The army had taught him that. When they drove up to the gates of Wayne Manor, Alfred rolled down his window and typed in the code to open the gates. They whirred to life and slid smoothly open, and Alfred drove down the long path towards the house, trying not to think about the last time he'd done this with Jason in the back of the car. How he hadn't known, then, that it would be the last time. Until now.

They finally pulled up outside the front door, and Alfred got out, walked around to the back of the car, and before Jason could do anything, he opened the door for him. Just like he would have done before. "Welcome home, Master Todd," he said simply, waiting for Jason to get out so he could lead him inside.

[darkjustice]

@butlermate

"All in all, it was a successful venture, and Wayne Enterprises looks forward to collaboration with other major Metropolis businesses in the future. I think that's all the shareholders wanted me to say." The reporters laughed, and Bruce smiled at the cameras the way he had practiced all his life. Then he held up a hand. "Thanks everyone, but I've really got to go. I've got a lot of work left to do at home -- like sleep." It wasn't, strictly speaking, a lie. But most everything else he said was, along with the casual grin and wave of his hand as he strode inside Wayne Manor.

Inside, his demeanor changed. Once the door shut, his face grew stony, unreadable. His posture straightened, he cracked his neck. The vapid gleam left his eye, replaced with a brooding look. He had planned to find Tim first, a quick check-in before he went down to the Bat Cave to get the scope of what he'd missed while away -- but the look on Alfred's face made him pause. "What happened?" he asked simply. "Is everyone okay?"

[butlermate]

Alfred had been waiting to broach the subject of Jason all day. He had no bloody clue how he was going to bring it up. He'd barely wrapped his head around it himself. But the one thing he knew was that he needed to inform Master Wayne, as soon as possible. He knew Jason's death had weighed on him, more, even, than it had weighed on Alfred. They had both carried the loss in different ways. After the boy's funeral, they'd both come back to Wayne Manor, and it had been hard to imagine Jason wouldn't stroll in from school, swinging his rucksack, chatting to Bruce about their next adventure. Thinking about him, remembering him like that, made Alfred despise himself more than he thought possible. He'd let the boy go out and fight crime like a sodding Hardy Boy. And he'd got killed. Simple as that.

Alfred waited for Bruce to return from the press conference, standing to attention in the lobby of the manor, letting the loathing and grief and fury eat him. He deserved it, didn't he? Just because the lad wasn't dead, that didn't undo what had happened to him. When Bruce finally walked through the door, Alfred knew he didn't need to say anything for the other man to see something was wrong. It was written all over his face.

"Yes sir," he said hurriedly. "Everyone's fine." He gripped his hands together behind his back, and cleared his throat. "I ran into a lad yesterday. Thought he was a street kid. But --" He cut himself off, and stared into Bruce's eyes. "There's no easy way to say this, Master Bruce, so I'm just going to say it. It was Master Todd." He kept his voice steady and calm, for Bruce's sake. "It was Jason. He's alive. I don't know how. But he is."

[ofbalance]

Alfred was going to kill him. Honestly, if there was one person Dick feared more then Bruce it was the Butler standing before him. Though the term 'butler' negated just the true impact and important Alfred had among them. There wouldn't be 'them' without Alfred. Just a bunch of corpses. "Was I--- I mean yes." Because that was the responsible thing to do despite how incredibly tense he felt refusing to bring up the fact it had been so long. "Bruce isn't home right?" He asked, not even trying to hide his want to avoid his former mentor. Alfred would see through it even at his best facade.

[butlermate]

Dick asked if Bruce was home, and Alfred couldn't help but give the boy a disbelieving look. "No, he's not," he said. "If Bruce was home, I don't think it would be wise to invite you back, do you?" It was a rhetorical question, one he didn't expect Dick to answer. They both knew Bruce wouldn't exactly be pleased to see his former ward. After a moment, he said, briskly, "Right. Lead on, Master Grayson."

[thejokerswilde]

"Oh, that's a shame." Jeremiah said, unable to keep the disappointment from his tone. The man in front of him was immediately on guard and it made him think that he knew Jerome somehow. Why else would he be staring at him like that? Or talking to him in that rough and tough tone of voice. He glanced him up and down and he lifted his chin in response. Letting him know that his clear judgement of him and his character had no effect on him.

"Valeska." He said plainly. "But you knew that. Didn't you?" He dipped his head a bit, staring at him over the frames of his glasses, unblinking. "You look at me and you see that lunatic. Jerome. I must say, as much as I take great offence, I do understand. I'm his spitting image. Or maybe he's mine." Jeremiah said with a bit of a smile. "Dick's not just my acquaintance. He's my dear friend. We met when we were children, back when we both lived in Haley's Circus. You don't know me because after I fled the circus in fear of my brother murdering me, I directly went into hiding. Regretfully, I didn't have it in me until now to check back up on Dick. I'd like to get close to him again. Perhaps you could give me his new address?"

[butlermate]

Valeska. Of course, Alfred had recognised the lad, but it was still chilling to hear it. He felt a sense of automatic protectiveness, for Bruce, and Tim, and even Dick, who had come by recently. Before he could say anything, the boy kept talking. He said he took offence to the fact Alfred saw Jerome in him, even though they were each other's spitting image. He smiled when he said it, and Alfred knew at once he was talking bollocks. He sounded sincere, but there was something about him Alfred didn't like. It made the alarm bells ring in his head, the ones the service had trained him to always listen to.

The boy kept talking, explaining that he knew Dick from before Dick was orphaned. Said he went into hiding because Jerome had threatened to kill him. From what Alfred knew of Jerome, that was likely, but he couldn't muster up any sympathy. The alarm bells were still ringing. When the boy had finally finished talking, ending by asking for Dick's new address, Alfred replied. "I'm afraid I don't have it. He didn't leave a forwarding address. Left in a bit of a hurry, y'see."

It was the truth, but even if it wasn't Alfred wouldn't have given this boy Dick's address. He met his gaze steadily. "I didn't mean to offend you, Mister Valeska," he said, trying to keep his tone polite. "When Dick comes by, I'll let him know you were looking for him. Would you like to leave your number? I'll see to it that he gets it."

[plxntbasedbitch]

Pam glanced up at the sound of the man’s voice, which struck her as vaguely familiar. It took her a moment to place him -- she hadn’t worked at Wayne Enterprises for years now, and Alfred Pennyworth hadn’t been particularly significant on her radar. She gently brushed her fingertips across the petals of the blue vervain, the colors becoming more vibrant under her touch. A shaft of sunlight fell over her shoulder; it could have been responsible for the change in hue, but she could feel it responding to her, like a kitten sprawling in the sun and basking for attention. 

“Doctor,” she corrected without hesitation, straightening up from her attentive hunch over the wildflowers. “I remember.” She shook his hand, though her grip was light and perfunctory. Pam brushed a strand of copper hair out of her eyes, looking over at him. “How is Master Wayne?” she said, though her tone was a little dry. She hadn’t forgotten Bruce’s response to her attempt to boost advertising revenue at Wayne Enterprises.

[butlermate]

Alfred could have sworn the flower responded to Pamela's touch. It seemed to turn more vivid. The sun was terribly bright, though, so it was probably a trick of the light. He turned away from it when she corrected him, and straightened up a little. It sounded like she was scolding him.

"Oh," he said, taken aback. "Sorry, Doctor Isley. My mistake." He shook her hand firmly. Her grip was light, but he sensed something in her gaze. It wasn't dislike, but it wasn't exactly friendly either. She asked how Bruce was, and he noticed the sharpness in her tone. Of course, Bruce had given the boot, hadn't he? Blimey, was she still angry at that? Wasn't it bloody years ago? He kept his expression polite. "Mister Wayne is fine," he replied. "He's out of town on business for a few weeks. Due back any day now, actually." He paused, and searched around for a safe topic of conversation. After a moment, he said, "So, what do you do now, Doctor Isley?"

[gotham-daily]

He could not touch the love your mum and dad gave you, that you still have in you, that you still have in here. The same love I have for you. I love you, Master Bruce. I would do anything for you. I would die for you. You must find that love again. Come back to me, Master Bruce.

[thedetectiverobin]

He didn't want to lie to Alfred. Anyone else, sure, but lying to Alfred was pretty much considered a crime. So Tim brushed past his question instead. Like he never asked it. Quickly closing the door behind him and glancing around the older man. "Is Bruce still out?" He'd been gone for a while. Robin wasn't really supposed to go out on his own without at least letting Batman know first but how was a guy even supposed to get permission when he wasn't even around?

Tim stuffed the rest of the yellow fabric into his backpack and swiftly moved past Alfred towards the kitchen and to the coffee maker. "Do you think he'd mind if I used the Bat Computer for a bit?" He asked.

[butlermate]

It didn't escape Alfred's notice that Tim didn't answer him, but he let it go. "Yes, he's not come home yet," he replied brusquely. He watched Tim stuff his cape into his backpack, and felt a pang at how familiar the sight was. Tim wasn't the first boy he'd seen do that. He followed the boy into the kitchen, used to his restless energy, and stood in the doorway. "No, I'm sure he wouldn't," he said. "But can I ask what you need it for?"

[all-blades]

What happened to you? Why does everyone keep asking that, as if they don't already know the answer? It's not like he asked for this — to come back to life. Coming back to Gotham was a mistake. He can't bring himself to look away, like a stupid deer caught in the headlights.

T did warn him, didn't she? He's such a fucking idiot.

"I—"

I'm not the kid you knew me as. Not anymore. He's still buried under the ground along with the rest of the magic that used to make Robin something special. I've done things I know you'll hate to hear. You'll hate me for not being that same little boy. Hate me for not regretting the things I do now.

"...Let's get outta the rain." Is what he does settle on, finally managing to look away. Anywhere that wasn't meeting Alfred's eyes again. He jerks his head, a gesture for them to get moving. He pointedly doesn't say: I'll go home with you. Because home was someplace safe, and nowhere will ever actually be safe until all the real monsters were put down like they deserved.

[butlermate]

Jason almost spoke, but cut himself off. Alfred stared at him, still marvelling at the fact that he could see the boy, that he was here. He let go of his arm -- it was obvious Jason wasn't going to bolt -- and just waited, holding the umbrella over them both. The same lad who had lain in a coffin in front of him was here right now. Whatever he'd been through, whatever awful thing had happened to him, Alfred swore to himself that he would never let harm befall this boy again. Not while there was still breath in his body. He would die before that happened. It didn't make up for sod all, but he swore it anyway.

Jason agreed to get out of the rain, and Alfred nodded. "Right you are, Master Jason," he said gently. "Wayne Manor it is. Come along." He placed his hand on Jason's arm, this time carefully, and guided him down the street towards the waiting car. He didn't say anything else, just walked, keeping his hand gently on the boy's arm as he did so, mostly to reassure himself that Jason was really here.

They made it to the car, and he opened the back door for Jason, as he had done countless times. As he thought he would never do again. He gestured inside, and looked at Jason, and couldn't believe how much a small gesture meant. Opening a car door for the boy he'd seen buried. "Here we are, Master Todd," he said softly. "I'll drive you home, and put on the kettle. Nice cup of tea, how does that sound?" He offered the boy a small smile, barely one, and it felt like an apology. For what Alfred knew had happened to him, and what he was yet to find out.

[thejokerswilde]

Not a very welcoming butler, are you? Jeremiah thought to himself the minute Bruce Wayne's butler spoke to him. He wasn't here for the butler, nor was he here for the man of the house himself. No. It was Dick Grayson who had his full attention. Ever since fate brought them together again at that little party, Jeremiah couldn't seem to get him off his mind. What was Dick doing right now? What was he thinking? Did he enjoy their reunion as much as he had? The questions repeated in his mind over and over. It was enough to drive any sane man mad, and so he needed answers. Without knowing if this was Dick's current address or not, he marched straight to Wayne Manor... prepared to find out.

"I'm here for Dick Grayson." He told the butler. "Where is he? I want to speak with him."

[butlermate]

The lad wasn't Jerome Valeska -- that much was obvious -- but he looked exactly like Valeska, before the boy had lost his bloody face. They had to be twins, didn't they? It was the only explanation. Alfred kept the door half closed, and looked the lad straight in the eyes. There was something in his tone. It wasn't particularly nice.. It sounded entitled. Like he was used to ordering people around.

"Alright, well, Master Grayson isn't here, I'm afraid," he replied bluntly. "I don't know where you got your information, sir, but he no longer lives at Wayne Manor. Now --" he looked the lad up and down. "I tend to keep track of Master Bruce's ward's acquaintances, but I confess, you're not familiar. Can I ask what you want with Master Grayson, Mister...?" He trailed off, waiting for the young man to fill in the blank.

[ofbalance]

The absolute unbridled delight he felt upon seeing Alfred was nothing short of childish. Nonetheless a gleeful smile spread across Dick's face. There wasn't much of a name for it, except, well, family. Alfred was family in a way that couldn't be put into words. He was watching him for a moment, only feeling creepy once Alfred had actually noticed. Briefly Dick wondered if Bruce ever got that feeling when he was in Batman mode watching them. He strut across the street in a way they could decidedly never tell Tim about. "Hey Alfred," Dick greeted with bemusement and affection. "Need a lift?"

[butlermate]

Dick walked across the street and greeted him like nothing was amiss, and Alfred gripped the handles of the bags a little tighter, even though they were bloody murder on his calloused hands. "If you're offering, Master Grayson," he said, in an uncharacteristically blunt voice. "Cheers. You're parked near here, are you?" He knew he hadn't greeted the lad the way he would have done before, well, everything, but he couldn't help it.

[all-blades]

Jason knew then that his plans were thoroughly and utterly fucked. It's only thanks to the knowledge of who was grabbing him that he doesn't react the way his training has instilled in him. He freezes, a lot like how that scrawny little runt he used to be would — when he was fresh off the streets and constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. His throat clicks as he forces himself to look at Alfred. Horrid scars across his face, the shock of white hair in his bangs, the unnatural gleam of his eyes in the low-light. It's a struggle, not to panic.

Talia was right. He can't do this.

He should've just quietly slipped into Arkham, slit the clown's throat, and slipped out before anyone would see the body come morning. He should've just let Talia do it herself. There is a part of him regretting not taking her up on that offer, once again.

"You—" He starts, stops, looks around instead. Anywhere but at the man in front of him. "Youse goin' senile on me, old man? I know we must all look the same to you white folk, but that ain't me. Ain't that the little orphan Annie that's worm dirt 'bout now?"

He hates this. Hates the look on Alfred's face, the way the old man's voice sounds right now. Hates how he's frozen in place with his heart in his throat. Hates the sound of his own voice especially. He scowls, bares his teeth like a dog. Maybe he'll bite.

He won't. But the violent impulse to snap his teeth presses insistently at the forefront.

"Let go of me. Ain't got time to be entertainin' folk like youse."

[butlermate]

Alfred didn't let go of the boy's arm. The lad had frozen when he'd grabbed him, and he finally looked up at him. Now he could take a good look at him, and he could see the white streaks in his hair, the scars across his face. The haunting expression in his gaze. Alfred knew that look well -- he'd seen it in the eyes of other soldiers, those who'd seen worse than even he himself had seen. Jason looked much, much, older now, but he was still the same lad that Alfred had seen buried. The same boy who'd died. He didn't let go of his arm -- he couldn't in case the boy ran for it.

The boy accused him of going senile, said that Jason Todd was worm dirt, and Alfred stared at him. He was putting on a voice, but beneath it, it was Jason. Plain as day. Why would the boy try to deny it? He was looking right at him. Jason bared his teeth, but Alfred still didn't let go of his arm. He wanted to pull the lad into a hug, to hold him close and apologise over and over again, but he knew he couldn't. Whatever the lad had been through -- whatever had happened to him after the Joker had beaten him to death -- must have been horrific. The boy wasn't ready for that kind of closeness. The only reason he wasn't letting go of him was to keep him from running.

"What happened to you, Jason?" he asked softly, ignoring the boy's pointless denials. "You died, son. I buried you --" He cut himself off, his voice breaking. The boy didn't need that right now. What he needed, what he'd always needed, was a father. Alfred had failed to be that. He'd let the lad die. He'd let him die. The enormity of it had weighed on him every single day since then. He thought about Jason every time he saw Master Drake don his own Robin suit, every time he heard the lad had been out on a mission and come back successfully, every time he looked at the empty seat at the huge dining room table that used to be Jason's. No one sat there anymore. Alfred wouldn't let them. A day hadn't gone by when he didn't think about Jason. Of course it didn't.

He suddenly realised that it was still bloody raining -- they were both soaked through -- and he shook out his umbrella with his free hand and held it above them both, though it was a little sodding late for that now. "Might I suggest, Master Todd," he said, very gently, loosening his grip on the boy's arm just a little, hoping he wouldn't leg it, "That we go inside? Master Bruce is away on business. The manor will be empty." He stared into Jason's eyes, pleading with him. "Come home."

[emperorisms]

the rain often agitated oswald’s ankle, the fractured bone & damaged muscle never having the chance to heal properly. he supposes the same force that beckons the clouds to spill their contents is the same force behind the ache — a cosmic unrest, something provoking in the air. it was days such as these where agitation accompanied pain. though his clientele weren’t a particularly obnoxious group, oswald had no desire to watch as men take shots out of the cleavage of dancers, their faces full of 200$ perfume & pearl necklaces, nor did he wish to see women tainting the collars of men with maroon lipstick and whispers of the divinely devious.

spotting wayne enterprises chief billionaire’s butler was something of a twist of fate. it hadn’t been long since penguin had crashed mr. wayne’s charity ball - after all, the owner of the most nightclubs in gotham should make an appearance, and with coin to spare. he can tell by the other’s demeanour that his presence is unwelcome - but alas, the bar alfred sits at holds the alcohol, and the alcohol holds a semblance of pain relief. penguin mirrors that tight smile, head tilting just slightly with the full stop at the bar, weight leaning onto his walking-stick. “ fancy seeing me here, indeed, ” he chuckles, the laughter false. “ i would tell you that consuming what one intends to sell is antithetical, and therefore i don’t, but i would be lying. ”

“ you’ve finally caught a break, i see. ” oswald notes, settling himself onto a barstool, his cane resting against mahogany. eyes take across a selection of bottles . . . nothing as good as what he’s got in his own territory. “ tiring, isn’t it? doting on another, i mean. lord knows- heh- i have been there, ” a nod & the pressing together of lips - faux sympathy. “ of course, i clawed my way out of such power dynamics. as could you. ”

[butlermate]

Oswald laughed -- an obviously forced sound -- and Alfred simply smiled politely. "You? Not lying? Well I never." It was close enough to a dig that it felt good to say, but not so close that Cobblepot could accuse him of insulting him. He hoped Cobblepot would carry on, but he pulled out the barstool and settled down. Brilliant.

He took a sip of his drink and put it back down again as the other man spoke. "Right, yeah," he said, frowning. "You used to work for Don Falcone, didn't you?" He felt a flash of surprising anger at Oswald's words. He was seriously comparing working for the mob to his position at Wayne Manor? Of course, he should've expected nothing less from the likes of the Penguin, but still. He leaned a little closer to Oswald. "It's hardly the same thing, mate. I don't want to claw my way out of anything." He paused. "I'll have you know, it's not tiring. Working for Master Wayne is the most rewarding thing I've ever done. But I don't imagine you'd understand that."

[butlermate]

starter for @ofbalance

The shopping bags were cutting into his hands, and Alfred mentally cursed the fact that Bruce had taken the car for the day. It was a long bloody walk from the bus stop to Wayne Manor. But then, across the street, he saw a familiar lad standing there, just watching him. He stopped walking. Well, it was more accurate to say he froze. Bloody hell. He crossed the street without pausing to check for traffic, which he would've chastised Master Drake for doing, and when he reached the other pavement, he put down the bags immediately.

"Master Grayson," he said. Perhaps it was the complete shock of having seen Jason, or the fact that life in this sodding city never stopped being bloody mental, but he somehow wasn't surprised to see the former Robin.