Prompt Post - Part Eight [CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS]
THIS PART IS NOW CLOSED. YOU CAN CONTINUE POSTING FILLS, BUT PLEASE PROMPT ALL NEW THINGS HERE.
Part one here!
Part two here!
Part three here!
Part four here!
Part five here!
Part six here!
Part seven here!
Feel free to reprompt posts from previous parts once. If you do so, I'd recommend leaving a link to your fill on the original prompt, in case somebody ( Read more... )
When Master Bruce shows up at the manor with a small child trailing behind him mournfully, Alfred is for once in his life uncertain. Master Bruce was never the sort of boy to bring home lost kittens or birds with broken wings and while his donations to homeless shelters and youth programs are more than generous, he’s never taken a personal interest. Master Bruce doesn’t even tell him why, simply informs him that the boy’s name is Richard Grayson and could Alfred please see to it that he’s comfortable? before disappearing down into the Batcave and into Batman.
Leaving Alfred with a shivering child, clutching Master Bruce’s far-too-large jacket around his thin frame and almost tripping on the sleeves as he takes a hesitant step forward towards Alfred.
“Well, Master Richard, would you like some hot cocoa?” The boy looks up at him, mouthing the question back. His eyes search Alfred’s face, his eyes still mouthing the words ‘master Richard’ as if they’re in some foreign tongue. Alfred smiles calmly, holding out one hand, and waits for the boy to give his answer. The child opens his mouth to say something, stops himself, and finally nods his head firmly once.
He trails along behind Alfred like a shadow on the way to the kitchen, watching with wide eyes as Alfred heats up milk in a saucepan and prepares the drink. There’s a sudden look of understanding when Alfred sets the whipped-cream topped mug in front of him, but even when he is sitting on a stool, both hands tightly grasping the now-empty mug, he simply stares at Alfred, Master Bruce’s jacket still draped around him like limp wings. He never says a word.
Alfred puts the boy to bed and offers to read him a story. Suddenly he has his arms full of a sobbing six-year old, crying the kind of tears he hasn’t seen since Master Bruce made his mad promise and dedicated himself to his quest.
Just what has Master Bruce gotten himself into this time?
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