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Bruce let out a breath and hugged his knees tight to his chest. He chewed on his bottom lip, staring down at the fresh graves sitting in the Wayne Family cemetery down below. Today had been his parents funeral and they had finally been laid down to rest but Bruce’s chest ached. He never knew he could be so sad in his entire life. He sniffed, feeling his eyes burn with unshed tears and his nose throb with pressure. Bruce’s fingers dug into his calves, grounding him as he took another heaving breath.
His parents were gone and nothing would ever be the same again. He shifted atop the roof of the manor, feeling the shingles beneath him creak just a bit. In the last week or so, the roof of the manor had become his safe place, the social workers, the grief counselor, his distant aunts and uncles, no one could find him tucked away on the roof of the manor.
Everything was still so crazy and uncertain. Alfred told him he was going to keep Bruce, something about his parents leaving it in their will. But all these distant relatives weren’t happy about it and had social workers coming to talk to Bruce almost every day.
He didn’t like it. He wanted to stay with Alfred. He didn’t know the Kanes very well, they didn’t come around a lot when his parents were alive. So he didn’t really get why they were showing up now. It just felt weird and their sympathy felt fake, like the same kind as the people who Bruce would see at galas with his parents. It left him feeling like they saw him as a character on a show rather than a real life person who lost his parents.
He just kinda wanted to disappear forever and no one would ever find him.
“Master Bruce?” A voice called and Bruce glanced down to find the butler climbing up the trellis. He let out a huff and said nothing until Alfred made his way onto the roof and took a seat beside him. “This is where you have been hiding away?” He asked and Bruce shrugged his shoulders, his fingers still digging into his calves.
“‘S quiet,” he mumbled, resting his chin on his knees, still staring at his parents’ graves.
Alfred let out a deep breath as he leaned back on his hands and stared out with him.
“It is rather quiet, isn’t it?” He asked, glancing over at the boy who kept his eyes focused on the graves.
“It was,” Bruce muttered and Alfred let out a soft chuckle but said nothing else. The two stared out at the Wayne property in silence, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Bruce let out a breath, his eyes still stinging with tears that he couldn’t bring himself to shed. “Alfred, I miss them.”
“I do as well, Master Bruce,” Alfred sighed. “But we will continue onward, your parents would want nothing less.”
Bruce sniffed, the tears now falling freely. He didn’t want to continue onward. How could he when his entire world was gone? Didn’t Alfred get it? His parents were gone and he was never going to see them again. He was never going to get to sit on his mother’s lap and listen to her sing to him as she did her make up. He would never get to help her put on her pearls before a gala. Bruce would never get to sit beside his father as he worked in his study. He would never get to smell that smoky scent of his cigars as he lit them on the back patio and told Bruce stories of his childhood.
“Although, I think neither of them would be upset if we chose to grieve for a while, dear boy,” Alfred said and carefully wrapped his arm around Bruce’s shoulder, pulling him close. Bruce rested his head on Alfred’s shoulder, feeling tears bleed into Alfred’s suit jacket.
They sat there for a while in silence, Bruce crying into Alfred’s shoulder as the butler held him close, rubbing his hand up and down Bruce’s shoulder.
Eventually Alfred spoke up once again.
“Bruce,” he said, rather informally for the ever stiff and formal butler. “I want you to know, I will never replace your parents. They were remarkable people and I am so lucky that I had the honor of knowing them for as long as I did. But I love you dearly, my boy and that love will never change. I will be here in whatever capacity you need me to be. I will be a friend, a shoulder to cry on, I will love and protect you to the best of my abilities.”
Bruce said nothing, simply wrapped his arms around Alfred’s arms, holding the man tight.
“We will weather this storm together,” Alfred said quietly.
Bruce sat atop the roof and rested his forehead on his knees. How the hell was he going to do this? Why did he even decide to do this in the first place? He wasn’t meant to be a dad, he wasn’t going to provide this boy with the love and attention he needed. How the hell could he? He was so flawed, so broken and imperfect. Dick needed someone strong, someone who knew how to love and be present.
That wasn’t Bruce.
He would never be a good father for the boy. Never be a replacement for the parents that he lost. He could still see it clear in his mind, the breathtaking moment that the Flying Graysons’ wings were cut and they fell to their deaths. It had only been a few hours since their deaths and he brought their heartbroken, grieving son back with him. He imagined, though, that he would see Dick’s face each time he closed his eyes. That picture would be forever burned into his eyelids.
“I thought you would be up here,” a voice said and Bruce glanced over to find Alfred stepping onto the roof. He watched his father-figure walk over towards him carefully watching his step before he took a seat beside Bruce and let out a breath.
“The poor thing has cried himself to sleep,” Alfred told him. “I placed him in your childhood bedroom. He was appreciative of the large bed.”
Bruce snorted and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Alfred.”
“You are doing what you think is right,” Alfred said simply. “You saw a young boy in need and you did what you thought was what was best.”
“I don’t know if I can be what he needs,” the twenty-three year old said, running his fingers through his hair. He stared out at the Wayne Cemetery, his eyes easily finding his parents’ graves even after all these years. “I can barely take care of myself. How am I supposed to take care of a grieving boy?”
Alfred bumped his shoulder against Bruce’s. “I thought the exact same thing when I learned that I would be your guardian. I looked at you and I wondered how on earth will I ever be enough for this precious little boy?”
“You’ve been a great father,” Bruce argued.
The butler let out a soft laugh. “Yes, I must be rather amazing considering my charge has decided to dress up like a bat and assault criminals in the middle of the night. I am the paragon of father figures everywhere.”
Bruce snorted. “You’ve fought me the entire time,” he muttered. His foot tapped against the hard shingles of the roof. “Alfred, what am I going to do?”
“You are going to love that boy,” Alfred told him quietly. “You will make mistakes, you will hurt his feelings at times, you will fail sometimes. But you will never stop loving him, not a single moment will he go without knowing that you love him. That means much more to a child than you will ever know.”
Bruce stared out at the cemetery, his eyes traced over the silhouettes of his parents’ graves. He would likely never be half the father that Thomas was to him, would never be as good as he wanted to be. Dick deserved so much more than Bruce. But he would do whatever he could to become the father that Dick needed. He would do everything in his power to love and protect the boy from the evils of the world.
“He deserves the world,” Bruce said quietly.
“And you will give it to him.”
The vigilante smiled, carefully, awkwardly resting his head on Alfred’s shoulder as if he were a young boy once again.
“We should likely get down soon. You need to get some rest before you go on patrols and I need to prepare for tomorrow,” Alfred said, despite wrapping his arm around Bruce’s shoulders, holding the young man tight.
Bruce didn’t say anything until Alfred took a seat beside him. Their legs dangled from the roof of the manor as they stared out onto the property.
“Master Richard is enjoying the gym that you built for him in the old ballroom on the second floor,” Alfred said conversationally. “Much better than him swinging on my chandeliers. Miss Martha would have been beside herself if she had ever seen such a thing.”
“Dad would have loved it,” Bruce said with a soft laugh as he turned his phone around in his hand.
“What has you so distressed tonight, Dear Boy?” Alfred asked, cutting to the chase.
“Talia had a miscarriage,” Bruce told him quietly. “I should be relieved. Any child born from the League would never know peace.”
“But you were also excited,” Alfred told him. “Richard and myself were just as excited as you. There has not been a baby in the manor since yourself.”
“I was so excited,” Bruce breathed. “Dick would have made an amazing big brother and I let myself imagine what it would be like. Talia would move in, maybe we would have gotten married. Our baby would be happy and healthy and loved. So very loved.”
“I am so sorry,” Alfred said quietly, resting his hand on Bruce’s knee.
Bruce shook his head and said nothing else. He ignored the burning in his eyes and simply took a deep breath. It was for the best that Talia miscarried. Whatever baby that they had together would never know peace, not with Ra’s Al Ghul as their grandfather. He shuddered at the thought. He couldn’t even think about what the immortal man would do if he managed to get his hands on any child, especially one of Bruce’s children.
No, it was better that Talia had miscarried. Even if there was a dull ache in Bruce’s chest and he grieved what could have been.
“He has informed Master Richard that you kidnapped him,” a voice said and Bruce glanced down to find Alfred standing with just his head showing from the roof. “Do you mind if I come up?”
Bruce gave him a small smile and motioned the man to come up.
“You aren’t brooding, so I am going to assume that you are not brooding up here for once,” Alfred said as he heaved himself onto the roof and stared out at the night sky. “It’s a lovely evening.”
“It is,” Bruce confirmed, tilting his head back to stare up at the harvest moon shining in the sky. “When I took in Dick, I was so scared. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, no clue on if I was going to be good for him, and considering our relationship, I still wonder if I did right by him. But I think we’re going to be good for Jason, he deserves to be loved and cherished and I hope we can be the family he needs.”
Alfred smiled, patting Bruce’s hand lightly. “I agree, Master Bruce. I think that we will be exactly what that boy needs,” the old man said with a small smile. Bruce rested his chin on his knees and let out a deep breath, feeling his body relax.
He was never going to be a perfect parent. He was never going to always get it right. But he was going to be the dad that Jason deserved. That boy would never go another day hungry, never cold, never scared, never worried about where he was going to sleep at night. Bruce would be his father, he would never go another day not knowing what it meant to be loved.
Jason deserved the world and Bruce was going to give his son that, just as he had done for Dick. He and Dick may argue, they may scream at one another until they were red in the face and go days without speaking to one another. But Bruce would always be here, he would always love that bright eyed little boy who became his first Robin. His children would never go a day not knowing what it meant to be loved and cherished.
He just needed to make sure that they knew just how much he loved them.
“I am getting far too old for this,” Alfred stated as he climbed onto the roof and sat beside Bruce.
“You’re sixty one,” Bruce said, taking a long drink from the bottle of whiskey he had snatched just an hour before. The bottle was nearly empty now and Bruce could feel his body swaying slightly. Alfred pressed a steadying hand to his shoulder.
Bruce set the bottle in between his legs and stared out at the fresh mound of dirt that now laid beside Martha’s. The headstone was supposed to be added in a day or two. Until then, it was just his son, six feet in the ground. His hands clenched into fists and he fought against the tears that burned in his eyes. He was not going to cry, he did not deserve to cry, he failed.
“Far too old,” Alfred said again with a sigh. “And he was far too young.”
“He’s gone, Alfred. I didn’t protect him,” Bruce said numbly. “He died thinking that I would never come.”
“I know, Dear Boy,” Alfred said before he snatched the bottle of whiskey from Bruce and took a long drink. “But we will do what we always do, we will weather this storm.”
Bruce took a long drink of whiskey and rested his forehead on his knees. Alfred sat beside him, his legs hanging from the roof as he looked out at the sky.
“He won’t leave,” Bruce grunted. “He won’t leave me alone, he’s a child.”
“He’s a child who wants to help you, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, his voice wobbly and broken. “He simply wants to help.”
“I am not bringing another child into this war,” Bruce grunted and Alfred let out a soft laugh.
“Try telling that to Timothy Drake. He may be even more bullheaded than you are.”
“He’s a child.”
“I am aware. But, I imagine that you will protect him just as you have your other Robins.”
“I failed, what makes you think I won’t fail again?” Bruce asked, giving Alfred a tired look.
“Dear Jason’s death was not your fault. As much as it pains me to say, he had made his own choice to run away without telling us. His death is Joker’s and Sheila Haywood’s fault, she is the one who failed as a parent. But not you, you are not infallible my boy. His death was not something that you could have controlled or prevented, not with how Dear Jason disappeared. You did everything that you could.”
“You’re also just one person,” a voice piped up and Bruce whipped his head over to find Timothy Drake climbing onto the roof and taking a seat on Bruce’s other side. “Sorry for sneaking up, sometimes I see you guys from Drake Manor when you sit up here.”
“Timothy, go home,” he said, his head falling on his knees once more.
“Jason’s death wasn’t your fault, but the possible deaths of people you send to the hospital is your fault,” Tim said in a deathly serious voice. “I won’t let you keep hurting people like that, criminals or not. I’m going to be your Robin and you’re going to deal with it.”
“What is it I always say my boy?” Alfred asked from the other side of him. He rested his hand on Bruce’s back and snatched the bottle of whiskey, throwing it off the roof. The soft sound of glass shattering made its way to Bruce’s ears. “We will weather this storm.”
“It’s far too quiet in the manor,” Alfred declared. The two were sitting atop the roof and Bruce was staring up at the stars.
“Hopefully he’s having fun in Paris,” Bruce murmured, resting his hands on top of his stomach. “I needed the distance, I was getting hrm, too attached.”
“And that is a bad thing?” Alfred asked, glancing down at him from his spot beside him. Alfred was currently knitting, a hobby that the older man had taken up after Jason’s death.
“Yes,” Bruce said simply. “Tim has parents, not present parents, but parents nonetheless. He isn’t mine.”
“Is it so bad for you to want him to be?” Alfred asked him gently over the clack of his knitting needles.
“Yes. Because if I get attached to him, that means it will hurt even more when he leaves,” Bruce said.
“Who says that Timothy is going to leave?” Alfred asked, glancing down at him.
“They always leave, Alfred. Dick, Jason,” he choked out. “It will only be a matter of time before Tim leaves me too.”
“Then why not cherish the time that you have with him for now?” Alfred questioned gently.
“He has parents,” Bruce argued.
“Parents who do not cherish him. You and I both know that Timothy has been lying about his home life. His parents are not around, not nearly enough for a boy of his age. He deserves to be loved, Bruce. You and I both know this, just as you deserve to love him. Why deny either of you that comfort? He is a wonderful child, he reminds me a lot of you.”
“I don’t want him to think I’m trying to take his parents place,” he said finally. “And I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to replace Jason.”
“I do not think either of those things are true. Master Jason is gone, Bruce, as much as it pains me to say it, it is true. We cannot continue to live in the past. Right now there is a child in front of you who very much needs someone in his life to care about him and his well being, who he knows cares about him. You can be that for him if you would just allow yourself to,” Alfred said.
Bruce said nothing as he picked at the shingles beside him and took a steadying breath. Alfred was right, Tim deserved to know that he was cherished.
Bruce took a long drink of whiskey and fell back onto his back as he swallowed hard. His mind was racing and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to feel. He stared up at the sky, taking in the bright sun hiding beneath the clouds.
Jason was alive.
He had tried to kill Tim.
Jason was his son. But so was Tim.
“This is quite the predicament,” a tired voice said. Bruce glanced over to find Alfred carefully sitting down beside him, making a face as his knees cracked loudly.
“You really shouldn’t be up here,” Bruce told him and Alfred took the bottle of whiskey from him and took a long drink before making a face and throwing it off of the roof. “Or throwing bottles. What if that hit Dick?”
“Master Dick is in the cave with Master Timothy. I will pick up the bottle once we are finished with your moping session,” Alfred declared, stretching his legs out in front of him. Bruce snorted and went back to staring up at the sky.
“What do I do?” Bruce asked after a few minutes of silence. Alfred let out a soft hum.
“What do you want to do?” Alfred asked him gently and Bruce let out a childish huff.
“That’s a difficult question,” he admitted. On one hand, he wanted to pull Tim into his arms and never let him go, protect him from any pain or hurt. But on the other hand, he wanted to go out and find Jason and bring him home. He wanted his sons all in one place.
But he couldn’t have both, could he? Jason had brutalized Tim, had nearly killed the poor boy. He couldn’t bring that kind of violence in his home, not when this was Tim’s home as well. The boy deserved to be safe. Yet, at the same time, his heart yearned for his second son. He wanted Jason home and he wanted to know that he was safe, he wanted to make sure that Jason knew that he was safe and loved and that Bruce would never fail him again.
But he couldn’t have both, could he?
Not when one had hurt the other so horribly.
“As I said, this is a predicament, one unlike any other that we have dealt with,” Alfred said with a sigh and patted Bruce’s leg comfortingly. “Master Timothy is alright. He is sleeping downstairs and Master Richard is with him.”
Bruce rubbed his face tiredly. “I don’t know what to do,” he said again and Alfred loosened a breath.
“We shall do what we always do, Dear Boy. We will weather the storm,” Alfred told him steadily. Bruce stared up at the sky once again, he would weather the storm, and hopefully he would come up with a solution.
“I’m going to kill her,” he declared as soon as Alfred took a seat beside him on the roof.
“At least you don’t have whiskey this time,” Alfred said with a sigh, his feet dangled over the side. “I’m far too old for this.”
“You’re nearing seventy,” Bruce pointed out and Alfred gave him a sour look. “Probably should stop following me onto the roof.”
“And you should probably stop running to the roof to hide and process your feelings. Perhaps you could go to therapy as other functioning adults do,” he stated and Bruce let out a scoff. Who did Alfred think he was? A healthy functioning adult? He took a sip of the beer he had brought with him and let out a breath.
Damian was alive all this time. All the missed moments between them, all the time wasted. He would never get those back.
“He’s ten-years-old, Alfred. She let me think that she had a miscarriage and hid our child from me for a decade,” he stated, his brow furrowed as he glared out at the cemetery. “I grieved him.”
“I did as well,” Alfred said with a sigh. “But he is here now and he will need guidance that only a father can provide.”
“He hates Tim. I don’t know how on earth I’m going to figure this out. He’s spoiled and angry and violent and he’s unlike any other child I have ever raised. I don’t know if I can break all of his conditioning.”
“We will do it together, I imagine your children will be more than happy to help,” Alfred said, resting his wrinkled, liver spot covered hand on Bruce’s knee. “And we will do as we always have, Master Bruce.”
Bruce let out an amused huff and took another long drink from his beer only for Alfred to snatch it away and throw it over the roof. Bruce stared down at the broken glass mournfully and took a deep breath. “I know, we’ll weather this storm just as we have the others. I just hope we can give him the life that he deserves without causing harm for the others.”
“We will figure it out. We always do,” Alfred said quietly.
Bruce smiled and leaned back on his hands as he watched his children down below. They were playing soccer, Dick and Damian against Tim and Jason. He had a feeling that his two middle children were about to absolutely demolish the other two and he had a feeling that it would be a good idea to come down and help Cassandra play referee, but his only daughter would be fine. She wouldn’t let any of the boys argue against her, she never did.
“What are you doing up here? Should you not be with your children?” Alfred asked, carefully stepping onto the roof.
“Alfred, you really need to stop following me up here,” Bruce said, exasperated. Alfred ignored him and took a seat beside him, his knees creaking as he did.
“You didn’t answer my question, Son,” the older man said and Bruce smiled, resting his arm on his knee as he leaned forward and watched Tim kick the ball into the goal.
“Look at them,” he said quietly. “We did that.”
Alfred let out a soft hum. “That we did, sir.”
“They’re safe and they’re happy,” Bruce breathed. He watched Tim and Jason excitedly chest bump one another, only for Damian to throw the soccer ball at Tim’s head, making his younger middle child squawk in offense. He chuckled, watching Dick immediately jump in between them before they could start fighting one another. A loud whistle sounded through the air as Cass helped Dick separate Damian from Tim while Jason laughed loudly, falling on his butt as he did.
“You’ve made your mistakes, Bruce, but you have raised some rather amazing children,” Alfred said quietly, his shoulder brushing Bruce’s.
“I couldn’t have done it without your help,” Bruce said softly, glancing over at his father. He smiled at the older man, wrinkled and worn, but here, always here. He was the one who had been there the entire time, who weathered the storm and sometimes even shielded Bruce from the worst of it. He wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for the butler who had so kindly taken him in. He wouldn’t have survived if it hadn’t been for Alfred believing in him when no one else did.
“I don’t say it a lot, but,” Bruce stopped and took a deep breath as he looked at his butler, his friend, his father and smiled. “I’m really happy that you’re my dad.”
A small smile grew on Alfred’s face as he wrapped his arm around Bruce’s shoulders and hugged him tight. “And I am very honored to have you as my son.”
Bruce smiled, resting his head on Alfred’s shoulder for just a moment. Allowing himself to be a child for just a moment as he soaked in the moment with the one person that Bruce knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could rely on no matter what. He watched as Tim glanced back at them and gave a small wave, beckoning the two men to join them in the yard before turning back to his brothers.
“Now, shall we get off of this roof and check in with the children? I’m sure they would have more fun if we were down there with them,” Alfred said and Bruce let loose a breath.
“In just a moment, I just want to watch them, just a little longer,” he said quietly. The game had started up again down below. This time, though, it was Damian and Tim against Jason and Dick. He wasn’t entirely sure how that happened but he feared for his two older sons, they were about to absolutely get their asses kicked.