Chapter Text
“What about Damian?”
Alfred sighed. Resisting the urge to rest his tired head in his hands. Resisting the urge to broadcast his smoldering anger and weary frustration to a child who had earned neither.
Alfred was tired. Alfred was so tired.
But that was not Master Timothy's fault. And he would not make it his problem.
“What do you need to know?” He asked instead. Contorting his expression into something open and calm. And, if the fates were kind, not nearly as synthetic as it felt.
“Is Bruce training him?”
“No.”
“But he was in the cave? He was injured there.”
Of course. Of course. The single line of questioning Alfred most wanted to avoid.
The butler couldn't have helped the warm and tickling affection growing in his chest if he'd tried. Mixing strangely with the already present annoyance. The boy was a bat to his very bones. And that, that was a difficult thing not to love. In this family at the very least.
Still, Alfred did not want to answer. He did so anyways. “Yes.”
“You're lying.” Timothy shot back. Eyes cold and searching in the way they always became when he was investigating a case. Analytical.
Alfred huffed, more a gentle reprimand than genuine annoyance. “You know better.”
“You're holding something back,” Timothy quickly amended.
“Yes.“
The role of trainer and trainee was an easy one for them to slip into despite themselves. The challenging push and pull was familiar to both of them. Their corriagraphed battle of wills soothing in is own right. And Alfred was immensely greatful for the grace Timothy showed in allowing it.
“You're not going to tell me.”
“Not if it can be prevented.”
“Why?”
“I feel as if it would be inappropriate. It is not… I don't feel as if it is my story to tell. As of yet.”
“That might change?”
“It might. Though I hope it does not.”
“Who's story is it?”
“A complicated question I'm afraid. But… Master Damian’s I suppose.”
Master Timothy blinked at him for a beat, and then another. Apparently surprised by something he’d seen in either Alfred’s words or expression. Though the butler couldn't quite place the cause.
“You…care about him?” Timothy asked. Sounding genuinely surprised.
“Of course.” Alfred shot back in equal surprise.
“No not like…” Timothy gestured vaguely for a few seconds. Illuminating exactly nothing to the older man before continuing. “Not like cause he's Bruce’s son and you have to or… or like you're just British and a butler or whatever. You actually… care about him. Like the person, him.”
Ah.
Ah. So that's what he was getting at.
“I do.”
Timothy's frantic puttering suddenly froze. All of his now placid attention shifted to the man in front of him. And for just a moment the butler was afraid the boy would see it as a betrayal. Shut down and pushed out after the wrong step once again.
“Why?”
“Because… he is a child.”
“He's not just a child Alf he’s-”
“Yes! Yes Master Timothy, he is. The things he has done, may well yet do if life isn't kinder, the things he's capable of; none of that adds years to his life! Master Damian is a child who has been on this earth for less than a decade! He IS a child. His head barely passes my hip for Christ’s sake! I'm so bloody sick of-” Alfred stopped himself short.
He wasn't angry with Timothy.
He wasn't angry with Timothy.
He took a deep breath, held, and then slowly let it go. Then did it again for good measure.
“I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm afraid it's been a… long night. You did not deserve my outburst and I shouldn't have shouted. You didn't do anything wrong.”
“No, I'm. I'm sorry too.” Timothy rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. God Alfred loved the boy. His goodness. His grace. Such good hearts, the lot of them. “I… I shouldn't have said that. I know he's nine. It's just… easier I guess. If I don't-”
‘Does. Alf does that… am I a bad person?”
“God no. God no. Of course you're not.”
“He hurt me.”
“I know, and you don't have to forgive that. What happened was terrible. You didn't deserve it and we, I should have done a better job of keeping you safe.” The ‘both of you,’ sitting on the edge of his tongue hung heavy in the air around them. Unsaid, but unspeakably loud all the same.
“He… he hurt a lot of people.”
“Yes. He certainly has.”
“He's dangerous.”
“Incredibly.”
“And unstable.”
“... Yes.”
“But he's still a kid.”
“He is.” Alfred agreed with absolute finality. “A very, very young one.”
“And… that's why you care about him?”
“Partially. He's also… how frank would you like me to be Master Timothy?”
“Completely.” Tim answered instantly. Eyes hard and burning. Face hesitant and afraid.
“Then I will do my best to be as honest and…delicate as I can.” The ‘for both of you,’ sitting at the edge of his tongue hung heavy in the air around them.
“The skills he has, the… body count he's accumulated, how do you think the League of Assassins managed to turn a nine year old into someone like that?”
“I… probably the same way B-”
“No. Not remotely.”
“How do you know? I mean, he's a literal Prince. He acts like a spoiled brat. Not like-”
“A victim? Do you think Ra’s is the kind of man who would have let him live if he did?”
“He still…”
“I know. I know. One does not excuse the other and I do not mean to imply that it might. What I suppose I'm trying to say is… There is a difference between justification and understanding. The situation is complex. There is no erasing the harm he's done. Certainly not for his victims, for their loved ones. There are no excuses for the pain he's caused. None. Nor are there any excuses to be had for what those monsters did to him. What they turned that baby into, or the methods they used to get him there.”
‘And I suppose what I mean to say is, I've seen his kindness. There is so much of it Master Timothy, hidden just below the surface. He's a little boy. Lost in ways I can only begin imagine, trying so hard to be good. But I've also seen his violence. I've seen his Anger and cruelty. I've been afraid. As hard as he tries to be good… there is no arguing that his definition is a very distant thing from ours. And that is dangerous. He is inarguably dangerous. And neither of those sides of him negates the other.’
“The world is a broken thing Master Timothy. Full of broken people. And as old as I might be, I still don't always have the right answers for most of it. But I Do know, he'll never have a chance to be anything else if someone doesn't show him how.”
“How do you know he even wants to change? And even if he did… What if it's too late? He tried to kill me! How can you know putting ourselves in that kind of danger will change anything? Will be worth it?”
“I don't. Those aren't my choices to make, or yours, or your father's. They are his.”
“Then what's the point?”
“Faith. Hope. The unlikely chance for something better. The same things that have always motivated the members of this family I suppose. In nearly everything we do.”
“I- I don't know.”
“You don't have to. I can't say I'm right in any of this. I don't even know if there is a right answer to be had at all.”
‘All that we can ever do is our best. And what that means is different for all of us. But I have so much faith in you Master Timothy. In all of you. In you and your brothers, in your father. In the patchwork community you've all built.”
‘You don't have to know now, and you certainly don't have to agree with my perspective. When you're ready, do what's best for you. I'll love you the same regardless. Always.”
‘“It all just feels so… fucked.”
‘The world is a broken place, filled to bursting with broken people Master Timothy. But broken never means hopeless.”