Fic: "Step by Step" - Chapter 1 (Batman)
My muse wouldn't give up, so here's the first chapter of my new Batman story. :)
A/N: This story is a companion story to Solace and will follow Bruce and Alfred for the next decade or so. I'll update as soon as possible. ;)
Step by step
By immertreu
September 8, 2011
Chapter 1
Alfred Pennyworth stood just outside his young charge’s bedroom door. Nine-year-old Master Bruce was late this morning. Again.
“Master Bruce, your car is waiting!” he called but got no reply in return. “Master Bruce?”
Cautiously, he knocked and opened the door. Life hadn’t been easy at Wayne Manor since the Master and Mistress’s murders three months ago, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare the grieving child even more.
The sight that greeted Alfred when he entered the room definitely wasn’t the one he’d hoped for, but it wasn’t totally unexpected either. A few months before, Master Bruce would have been on his hands and knees, searching for an elusive sock or shoe, trying to get ready for school on time. These days, he was either locked up in the bathroom adjoining his suite or hiding under the covers of the huge four-poster bed - like right now.
Alfred carefully closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, watching the unmoving bulk under the beautiful quilt Mrs. Wayne had bought for her son’s birthday last year.
“Master Bruce?” he tried again.
“No!” came the muffled reply.
“No? What do you mean by no? You have to go to school. Now.” Maybe his best imitation of a schoolmaster’s voice would work - probably not.
“No!”
The angry shout from under the covers proved Alfred’s suspicions right.
He stood next to the bed for a whole minute, worrying his lower lip, at a loss what exactly had brought on this latest outburst of childish obstinance and helplessness - and how to counter it.
Master Bruce’s parents had always wanted their only son to grow up like a normal child - going to school, meeting friends, having a life outside the walled boundaries of the Wayne Estate. Alfred had tried to honor their wish and had not taken his charge out of the private school after their deaths, hoping that the familiar surroundings and faces would help the boy recover from his terrible loss. But the plan hadn’t worked.
More often than not, Master Bruce would simply refuse to go. On the few occasions he went, one of his teachers would call an hour later, requesting that the boy be picked up because he was claiming to feel ill - from a sickness which miraculously vanished the moment he returned to his room at Wayne Manor - or because the child who, until recently, had been known for his mild-mannered and polite behavior had been disturbing the class or gotten into a fight again.
Alfred was getting tired of this game. His intentions may have been good, but obviously keeping Bruce enrolled at school was no use. His grades had dropped so low that Alfred was surprised the teachers even bothered to give him any. And his constant fighting with the other children wasn’t helping either. Problem was, he was really good at it. Master Bruce had always excelled at sports.
The boy’s friends no longer called. The few times Alfred had met one of his classmates while picking up his charge, the boy looked at Bruce with something close to fear in his eyes and turned away.
Master Bruce was hurting, that much everyone knew, but no one really understood. How could they? Seeing your parents shot to death in front of you was something no one could ever imagine.
Sighing, Alfred sat down on the corner of the bed. A conversation he’d been staving off for as long as possible would finally have to take place.
“Master Bruce, we need to talk.”
The bedspread didn’t move, but Alfred hadn’t really expected a response. Maybe his next words would get a reaction.
“Look, Sir, I know you do not want to go to school, but you have to. If I don’t send you to get an education, Child Protective Services might reconsider their decision and try to take you away from me. Do you understand?”
Nothing happened at first, but then a tousled head appeared from under the covers. Bruce’s eyes were dry but huge in his pale little face. He hadn’t cried since the night a few days after the funeral when he’d torn apart his room, but Alfred knew he’d have to let out the grief at some point, not just the fury.
Now the boy stared at his guardian with resentment in his eyes. “You can’t scare me. They wouldn’t dare take me away! M-m-mom and d-dad promised!”
The hissed reply was filled with venom - and with fear the child couldn’t keep quite out of his shaking voice.
Alfred didn’t acknowledge the challenge but replied in his most reassuring tone. “I am not trying to scare you. You know that. But I have to speak the truth. Your parents were wise to leave precise instructions regarding our future, and I am honored that they chose me to be your guardian in the event…”
His voice faltered, and he began anew. “The court gave us one year to prove that we can manage. That we can live together - alone - at Wayne Manor and that I can care for you as if you were my own son. But frankly, I’m not so sure anymore.”
The focused gaze coming from the bed almost made Alfred shudder, but he continued nonetheless because he had to try to talk some sense into the boy who didn’t understand the implications of his own actions - yet.
“Master Bruce, there are certain rules everyone living in this country has to follow. I didn’t make them, but I have to abide by them. Child Protective Services allowed us to continue our life here under the condition that you are well-cared for. I know it has been only three months, but the court is starting to take notice that not everything is as well as it should be.”
Alfred could see the anger rising in Bruce’s face, but he held up a hand and stopped the outburst before it happened.
“I know you miss your parents terribly. So do I.” He looked at the boy who wouldn’t meet his eye this time. Bruce didn’t want to talk about his parents or his feelings anymore.
“I don’t want you to pretend everything is normal. I know it is not. But you have to help me, too. Child Protective Services has been calling again. Did you know they took a look at your school reords? They even talked to the headmaster who wasn’t very pleased.”
Staring into space, Bruce pretended not to hear. Alfred could see the strain in his shoulders and his fists bunched in the sheets.
“Mrs. Simmons, our caseworker, called me last night. She said that if we ‘couldn’t pull ourselves together’ soon, she’d have to send someone to re-evaluate our case. And you know what that means, don’t you, Master Bruce?”
He didn’t have to continue because his young charge knew all too well what it meant. A few weeks after the Waynes’ deaths, Mrs. Simmons had bustled her way into their life and demanded to be kept informed of every significant factor related to Master Bruce’s well-being.
Alfred knew she meant well, but she’d threatened to call in a child psychologist - not the one Officer Gordon had recommended - which hadn’t gone down well with young Master Bruce. He hadn’t said a single word to her since. Every time she came for a “visit,” he just stared at her with an expression in his eyes only his guardian could read. It was simple despair, but she confused it with anger. He didn’t reply to any of her questions regarding his life with Alfred or his days at school anymore.
It was no wonder the social worker was thinking about placing the boy in foster care and having a doctor take a look at him - but it wouldn’t happen. Not while Alfred was still around.
The family butler’s becoming the guardian of the heir of one of the wealthiest families in Gotham had caused quite a few raised eyebrows among the well-situated citizens of the city, but what no one knew - except for the judge and the people at CPS who worked their case - was that Alfred had not only been given his task in Mr. and Mrs. Wayne’s will. They had also asked him to become Bruce Wayne’s godfather many, many years ago.
Alfred had made a promise then to the two people who held a place in his heart as his own son and daughter might. He wouldn’t break his vow. Not ever. It was what gave Alfred some advantage over the court, and he intended to use it to full capacity to make sure that Bruce would stay by his side until he was old enough to decide for himself.
Returning to the here and now, Alfred caught Bruce watching him.
“What is it, Master Bruce?” he asked. He had gotten used to the boy’s quiet presence and learned to understand most of his unspoken pleas over the past few months; but it was still unnerving, to say the least, considering how chatty and happy he had been before tragedy struck his family.
These days, Bruce hardly ever talked. He said yes or no when asked a question, but he never asked for anything of his own accord. Usually, Alfred had to guess or interpret a gaze or a tiny movement of the head, so by now he had a pretty good idea what his young master wanted; but he still tried to get the boy to talk once in a while. This time it seemed to work. Master Bruce finally loosened his deathgrip on the quilt and started to speak.
“I don’t want to go to school anymore.”
Alfred resisted the urge to run a frustrated hand through his graying hair and settled for patience instead. “That much I gathered, Master Bruce, but why? You’ve always loved to learn, to discover new things. You have friends at school.”
The boy’s next reply caught his mentor off-guard.
“No, I don’t. They all think I’m a freak. They stare at me. They think I should be locked up in a hospital somewhere. They say I’m nuts and don’t belong there. I don’t want to go back. Ever!” And with that he jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom before Alfred could make a move to stop him.
The door slammed shut, and the tell-tale screech of the huge key turning in the ancient lock reverberated through the room.
“Oh, dear!” Alfred got up from the bed with a resigned sigh. The battle was lost. He couldn’t even blame the boy because his outburst had only confirmed Alfred’s greatest fear.
Children could be cruel, even more so when they had to deal with matters they didn’t fully understand. And who knew what the parents of those children had told them or said to each other when they thought no one was listening? Even the smallest ears could pick up on rumors and resentment portrayed by others.
Angry with himself because he hadn’t thought about removing the key until now, Alfred stood in front of the bathroom door and said, “Very well then. I shall call the school and tell them that you are sick.”
The door stayed closed, and no sound escaped the bathroom; but Alfred knew Bruce had heard the offer.
Sending a silent prayer for forgiveness to the heavens - and Bruce’s parents - for what he was about to suggest, Alfred continued. “In return I want you to think about something, Master Bruce. I think I could make it possible for you not to go back to school anytime soon. That is, if you promise me to study at home with a tutor until you are ready to go back. How does that sound?”
The door stayed shut for a very long time, and Alfred was beginning to think it would stay that way for the rest of the day when the key turned in the lock.
Master Bruce had combed his hair and looked much calmer than before. His voice was a little unsteady though when he asked, with hope in his eyes, “You won’t make me go?”
The simple question that contained so much fear and pain made Alfred’s heart ache for the small boy who didn’t deserve any of this. In lieu of an answer, he took a small step forward and simply pulled the startled child into a hug. Bruce stiffened, but after a moment he put his small arms around his guardian’s middle and hid his face from view.
Alfred ruffled the boy’s hair in affection, thoroughly ruining Master Bruce’s attempt at looking more grown-up and returning his shock of hair to its previous state of an unruly mop. The notion made Alfred smile inwardly. When he’d found his voice again, he simply replied, “I won’t force you to do anything - ever. Do you understand?”
Feeling more than seeing the nod of the tiny head against his midriff, he said, “We’ll find another way. And now, how about you come downstairs to the kitchen with me? I have to call the school…” Ignoring the tightening of the hands clinging to him, he continued, “…and then we’ll have some breakfast and talk about finding a tutor for you, all right?”
Alfred hoped Master Bruce’s parents would understand.
TBC
A/N: This story is a companion story to Solace and will follow Bruce and Alfred for the next decade or so. I'll update as soon as possible. ;)
Step by step
By immertreu
September 8, 2011
Chapter 1
Alfred Pennyworth stood just outside his young charge’s bedroom door. Nine-year-old Master Bruce was late this morning. Again.
“Master Bruce, your car is waiting!” he called but got no reply in return. “Master Bruce?”
Cautiously, he knocked and opened the door. Life hadn’t been easy at Wayne Manor since the Master and Mistress’s murders three months ago, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare the grieving child even more.
The sight that greeted Alfred when he entered the room definitely wasn’t the one he’d hoped for, but it wasn’t totally unexpected either. A few months before, Master Bruce would have been on his hands and knees, searching for an elusive sock or shoe, trying to get ready for school on time. These days, he was either locked up in the bathroom adjoining his suite or hiding under the covers of the huge four-poster bed - like right now.
Alfred carefully closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, watching the unmoving bulk under the beautiful quilt Mrs. Wayne had bought for her son’s birthday last year.
“Master Bruce?” he tried again.
“No!” came the muffled reply.
“No? What do you mean by no? You have to go to school. Now.” Maybe his best imitation of a schoolmaster’s voice would work - probably not.
“No!”
The angry shout from under the covers proved Alfred’s suspicions right.
He stood next to the bed for a whole minute, worrying his lower lip, at a loss what exactly had brought on this latest outburst of childish obstinance and helplessness - and how to counter it.
Master Bruce’s parents had always wanted their only son to grow up like a normal child - going to school, meeting friends, having a life outside the walled boundaries of the Wayne Estate. Alfred had tried to honor their wish and had not taken his charge out of the private school after their deaths, hoping that the familiar surroundings and faces would help the boy recover from his terrible loss. But the plan hadn’t worked.
More often than not, Master Bruce would simply refuse to go. On the few occasions he went, one of his teachers would call an hour later, requesting that the boy be picked up because he was claiming to feel ill - from a sickness which miraculously vanished the moment he returned to his room at Wayne Manor - or because the child who, until recently, had been known for his mild-mannered and polite behavior had been disturbing the class or gotten into a fight again.
Alfred was getting tired of this game. His intentions may have been good, but obviously keeping Bruce enrolled at school was no use. His grades had dropped so low that Alfred was surprised the teachers even bothered to give him any. And his constant fighting with the other children wasn’t helping either. Problem was, he was really good at it. Master Bruce had always excelled at sports.
The boy’s friends no longer called. The few times Alfred had met one of his classmates while picking up his charge, the boy looked at Bruce with something close to fear in his eyes and turned away.
Master Bruce was hurting, that much everyone knew, but no one really understood. How could they? Seeing your parents shot to death in front of you was something no one could ever imagine.
Sighing, Alfred sat down on the corner of the bed. A conversation he’d been staving off for as long as possible would finally have to take place.
“Master Bruce, we need to talk.”
The bedspread didn’t move, but Alfred hadn’t really expected a response. Maybe his next words would get a reaction.
“Look, Sir, I know you do not want to go to school, but you have to. If I don’t send you to get an education, Child Protective Services might reconsider their decision and try to take you away from me. Do you understand?”
Nothing happened at first, but then a tousled head appeared from under the covers. Bruce’s eyes were dry but huge in his pale little face. He hadn’t cried since the night a few days after the funeral when he’d torn apart his room, but Alfred knew he’d have to let out the grief at some point, not just the fury.
Now the boy stared at his guardian with resentment in his eyes. “You can’t scare me. They wouldn’t dare take me away! M-m-mom and d-dad promised!”
The hissed reply was filled with venom - and with fear the child couldn’t keep quite out of his shaking voice.
Alfred didn’t acknowledge the challenge but replied in his most reassuring tone. “I am not trying to scare you. You know that. But I have to speak the truth. Your parents were wise to leave precise instructions regarding our future, and I am honored that they chose me to be your guardian in the event…”
His voice faltered, and he began anew. “The court gave us one year to prove that we can manage. That we can live together - alone - at Wayne Manor and that I can care for you as if you were my own son. But frankly, I’m not so sure anymore.”
The focused gaze coming from the bed almost made Alfred shudder, but he continued nonetheless because he had to try to talk some sense into the boy who didn’t understand the implications of his own actions - yet.
“Master Bruce, there are certain rules everyone living in this country has to follow. I didn’t make them, but I have to abide by them. Child Protective Services allowed us to continue our life here under the condition that you are well-cared for. I know it has been only three months, but the court is starting to take notice that not everything is as well as it should be.”
Alfred could see the anger rising in Bruce’s face, but he held up a hand and stopped the outburst before it happened.
“I know you miss your parents terribly. So do I.” He looked at the boy who wouldn’t meet his eye this time. Bruce didn’t want to talk about his parents or his feelings anymore.
“I don’t want you to pretend everything is normal. I know it is not. But you have to help me, too. Child Protective Services has been calling again. Did you know they took a look at your school reords? They even talked to the headmaster who wasn’t very pleased.”
Staring into space, Bruce pretended not to hear. Alfred could see the strain in his shoulders and his fists bunched in the sheets.
“Mrs. Simmons, our caseworker, called me last night. She said that if we ‘couldn’t pull ourselves together’ soon, she’d have to send someone to re-evaluate our case. And you know what that means, don’t you, Master Bruce?”
He didn’t have to continue because his young charge knew all too well what it meant. A few weeks after the Waynes’ deaths, Mrs. Simmons had bustled her way into their life and demanded to be kept informed of every significant factor related to Master Bruce’s well-being.
Alfred knew she meant well, but she’d threatened to call in a child psychologist - not the one Officer Gordon had recommended - which hadn’t gone down well with young Master Bruce. He hadn’t said a single word to her since. Every time she came for a “visit,” he just stared at her with an expression in his eyes only his guardian could read. It was simple despair, but she confused it with anger. He didn’t reply to any of her questions regarding his life with Alfred or his days at school anymore.
It was no wonder the social worker was thinking about placing the boy in foster care and having a doctor take a look at him - but it wouldn’t happen. Not while Alfred was still around.
The family butler’s becoming the guardian of the heir of one of the wealthiest families in Gotham had caused quite a few raised eyebrows among the well-situated citizens of the city, but what no one knew - except for the judge and the people at CPS who worked their case - was that Alfred had not only been given his task in Mr. and Mrs. Wayne’s will. They had also asked him to become Bruce Wayne’s godfather many, many years ago.
Alfred had made a promise then to the two people who held a place in his heart as his own son and daughter might. He wouldn’t break his vow. Not ever. It was what gave Alfred some advantage over the court, and he intended to use it to full capacity to make sure that Bruce would stay by his side until he was old enough to decide for himself.
Returning to the here and now, Alfred caught Bruce watching him.
“What is it, Master Bruce?” he asked. He had gotten used to the boy’s quiet presence and learned to understand most of his unspoken pleas over the past few months; but it was still unnerving, to say the least, considering how chatty and happy he had been before tragedy struck his family.
These days, Bruce hardly ever talked. He said yes or no when asked a question, but he never asked for anything of his own accord. Usually, Alfred had to guess or interpret a gaze or a tiny movement of the head, so by now he had a pretty good idea what his young master wanted; but he still tried to get the boy to talk once in a while. This time it seemed to work. Master Bruce finally loosened his deathgrip on the quilt and started to speak.
“I don’t want to go to school anymore.”
Alfred resisted the urge to run a frustrated hand through his graying hair and settled for patience instead. “That much I gathered, Master Bruce, but why? You’ve always loved to learn, to discover new things. You have friends at school.”
The boy’s next reply caught his mentor off-guard.
“No, I don’t. They all think I’m a freak. They stare at me. They think I should be locked up in a hospital somewhere. They say I’m nuts and don’t belong there. I don’t want to go back. Ever!” And with that he jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom before Alfred could make a move to stop him.
The door slammed shut, and the tell-tale screech of the huge key turning in the ancient lock reverberated through the room.
“Oh, dear!” Alfred got up from the bed with a resigned sigh. The battle was lost. He couldn’t even blame the boy because his outburst had only confirmed Alfred’s greatest fear.
Children could be cruel, even more so when they had to deal with matters they didn’t fully understand. And who knew what the parents of those children had told them or said to each other when they thought no one was listening? Even the smallest ears could pick up on rumors and resentment portrayed by others.
Angry with himself because he hadn’t thought about removing the key until now, Alfred stood in front of the bathroom door and said, “Very well then. I shall call the school and tell them that you are sick.”
The door stayed closed, and no sound escaped the bathroom; but Alfred knew Bruce had heard the offer.
Sending a silent prayer for forgiveness to the heavens - and Bruce’s parents - for what he was about to suggest, Alfred continued. “In return I want you to think about something, Master Bruce. I think I could make it possible for you not to go back to school anytime soon. That is, if you promise me to study at home with a tutor until you are ready to go back. How does that sound?”
The door stayed shut for a very long time, and Alfred was beginning to think it would stay that way for the rest of the day when the key turned in the lock.
Master Bruce had combed his hair and looked much calmer than before. His voice was a little unsteady though when he asked, with hope in his eyes, “You won’t make me go?”
The simple question that contained so much fear and pain made Alfred’s heart ache for the small boy who didn’t deserve any of this. In lieu of an answer, he took a small step forward and simply pulled the startled child into a hug. Bruce stiffened, but after a moment he put his small arms around his guardian’s middle and hid his face from view.
Alfred ruffled the boy’s hair in affection, thoroughly ruining Master Bruce’s attempt at looking more grown-up and returning his shock of hair to its previous state of an unruly mop. The notion made Alfred smile inwardly. When he’d found his voice again, he simply replied, “I won’t force you to do anything - ever. Do you understand?”
Feeling more than seeing the nod of the tiny head against his midriff, he said, “We’ll find another way. And now, how about you come downstairs to the kitchen with me? I have to call the school…” Ignoring the tightening of the hands clinging to him, he continued, “…and then we’ll have some breakfast and talk about finding a tutor for you, all right?”
Alfred hoped Master Bruce’s parents would understand.
TBC