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arianaofimladris · 4 days ago

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Batman Whumptober 2024 entry

Fandom: Batman (Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy)

Prompts filled:

No. 22 Bleeding through bandages

"I think you've had enough, Mr Wayne." He grabbed Bruce by the elbow, carefully avoiding stains above. "How about getting some air?"

"What are you doing?" Bruce stumbled and his words sounded a bit slurred, but his eyes darted around. He clearly picked Gordon’s intentions and played along, but the commissioner wasn’t sure how much of his behaviour was an act.

"Saving you some embarrassment," Jim said loudly, his voice full of mild disappointment as he steered the younger man towards the exit. "And a lot of explaining," he hissed once they were alone at the corridor and Bruce suddenly swayed more. Not an act, then. "Unless you have a good reason to be bleeding through your tux."

Full story under the cut or in here:

A welcome distraction

Long shifts usually happened in the least appropriate moments, and if he were completely honest, Jim wouldn't have picked a party as his preferable way to spend the rest of the evening. Sadly, he had been invited as the Commissioner and the host was Bruce Wayne, so he needed to show up if for a short time. Wayne Manor had been rebuilt just before the end of the year, so the billionaire threw a house-warning party a week before Christmas. Jim knew Bruce loathed the idea as much as he did, but complied to Alfred's suggestion as a celebration like this was expected of him.

As it turned out, Jim wasn't the only one being late. Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be found, not that his guests seemed to mind. Jim wasn't really surprised. He had a strong suspicion Batman had been supporting the police operation without being seen. That terrorist group trying to take hostage people doing pre-Christmas shopping really had had the worst timing.

Jim spotted Lucius Fox among the guests, one of the very few people he could actually talk to and soon they got engaged in a conversation about the latest order the police placed in Wayne Enterprises. They almost missed Bruce's arrival, but raised their glasses in a toast as the host welcomed them all, before his apparent date for the evening swept him away. Jim saw the billionaire mutter something to her and kiss her cheek before he literally left her to greet other socialites. Something was off. Bruce Wayne usually liked to show off his beautiful companions. He also seemed pale and a bit out of breath, which also confirmed Jim's suspicions about the nature of his lateness.

The party went on, hopefully uneventful. After the long day at work Jim wouldn't really mind if all the excitement of the evening was provided by excellent food and drink, with no drama or scandals. Lucius Fox had been a good company, but at some point he too left to join a few people Jim vaguely recognised as Wayne Enterprises board members. Since he himself wasn't exactly in the mood to discuss anything with any of them or any city officials he was doing his best to avoid, he found himself wandering aimlessly with a drink. He hoped for a normal conversation with Bruce, so when he finally spotted him relatively unoccupied, sipping at his champagne, Jim moved to join him.

Before he got there, someone bumped into the billionaire from behind, causing him to spill the rest of his drink.

Bruce yelped. He was quick to cover it with a smile and reassurance that everything was perfectly fine, but Jim was already making his way towards him. Something was most definitely not alright - neither in the strain in his smile, nor in the pain in his voice. Bruce called after the nearest waitress and asked her to wipe the floor, but as he turned to leave, he stumbled and reached for the wall to steady himself. Then Jim saw a wet stain on the black suit, a stain that certainly did not come from the champagne, and decided to intervene.

"I think you've had enough, Mr Wayne." He grabbed Bruce by the elbow, carefully avoiding stains above. "How about getting some air?"

The billionaire looked at his left sleeve a little above the elbow. The word that left his mouth was very clearly a swearword, though Jim couldn't even begin to guess the language. It didn't matter. What they needed now was some private place and Jim realised he had no idea where to go.

Bruce seemed to pick his hesitation. "In here." He fished out a simple key and opened second door to the left.

It was a small storage room. Once Jim closed the doors behind them, Bruce leaned against the nearest cupboard and quietly slid down to sit on the floor.

"Thanks," he muttered and shifted to support his clearly injured arm. "Damn. Lock the door, please," he passed Jim the key and worked on taking off his jacket.

Jim complied without questioning, since there were too many eyes that should not see the host of the party bleeding like this. When he turned, he saw Bruce leaning forwards, head between his knees, swaying dangerously as he panted. His jacket hang awkwardly on his left wrist and he was pressing his good hand to the bloodied sleeve of his shirt. He swayed more and jerked, reaching out blindly trying to catch himself from falling.

"Hey, easy!" Jim knelt beside the younger man and held him steady. Bruce was blinking and taking quick, deep breaths, but all the colour seemed to have drained from his face. "Easy, son. Lie down, okay?"

Bruce didn't really object as Jim steered him and made sure he wouldn't hit his head. The commissioner really wished they had gone anywhere else. It was absurd, making the wounded lie on a cold floor when there were beds, couches and armchairs in the surrounding rooms. Sadly, so was a hundred guests or so.

"Hey, no, none of that. Don't close your eyes," Jim patted his cheek lightly as he lifted Bruce’s wounded arm to put it on his chest. "I need you with me, ok? How bad is it?"

"Stab wound," Bruce hissed as he reached to put pressure on his arm. "Deep. And damn fresh." He was still taking deliberately deep breaths and blinking. "No need for alarm." His voice was steady, though a bit strained.

"Mhm, sure," Jim snorted, but got what the younger man was trying to say. I’m not dying here. "Hey! Stay down for a bit." He objected when Bruce already tried to push himself back to a sitting position.

"It's better now."

"Yes, because you are lying down. Give it a few minutes, then we'll get you up."

"Alfred's gonna kill me," Bruce grunted, but complied. He stared awkwardly at the ceiling for a moment, then fished out his phone and hit a speed dial. "Yeah, a bit of a situation here," he admitted to what Jim assumed was Alfred's greeting. "I need a fresh shirt and jacket... Yeah, that too... In the pantry, with Jim. It's all under control."

Jim wasn't sure now convincing Bruce thought he sounded, but from what he had managed to observe about Alfred Pennyworth, he doubted the butler was in any way reassured.

"Any chance I can find you something to drink here?" he asked, feeling a bit awkward crouching like this. He looked around, but most of the cupboards were closed.

"Probably," Bruce muttered. "Just wait for Alfred."

When Jim inquired about the locks in the doors, just to keep the wounded focused on something, Bruce explained that the pantry led to the kitchen Alfred used on daily basis. It was a private part of the manor and they didn't want guests or catering staff invading that space, so they installed a simple universal lock in several doors. This way Alfred could easily close areas they didn't wish strangers in, and in emergencies like this one, Bruce had a possibility for quick escape and a place to retreat to. Besides, Alfred absolutely loathed the idea of catering staff - or anyone else, Bruce included - messing with his kitchen.

They didn't wait long.

"Oh dear." Alfred rushed in the moment he saw Bruce on the floor. "That bad?"

"It's okay now, Alfred," Bruce reassured him immediately and pushed himself to sit. Jim didn't stop him this time. "Just needed a moment, it's fine. Besides," he forced a grin, "you did tell me to lie down before."

The butler didn't seem amused. "Yes, and by that I meant in your bed, not dusting cobwebs in the pantry."

"You don't have cobwebs here," Bruce retorted and accepted Jim's help to get back on his feet. He leaned against a cupboard for a moment, but seemed steady. "See? All fine. Just need a clean shirt."

"You put it on that, you're just going to ruin it, sir," Alfred quipped and pointed at the bloodied bandages Bruce was still pressing on. "Let's get you sorted first, sir. Did you at least manage to drink or eat something?"

"Half a toast I couldn't skip," Bruce winced. "Half too much."

“Not what I meant, sir.”

They moved to the kitchen through the second door and Jim was struck by the difference. Unlike all the freshly rebuilt rooms he had a chance to see, this place actually looked like someone was using it. Jim understood what Bruce meant about keeping private parts private and he felt like an intruder, especially since the other two seemed to ignore his presence. Bruce sank heavily on a chair and accepted a rehydration drink Alfred passed him before removing the shirt to change the dressings. He tried to stay still, sipping at the drink, but when the butler got to the last layers of soaked bandages, he flinched and covered his mouth with his hand.

"Wait," he hissed, clearly fighting nausea.

"I'm sorry, master Wayne," Alfred stopped, until Bruce nodded for him to continue. "I can't just let you go back there like this."

"I know."

"Then perhaps next time try not to get butchered right before hosting a party," Alfred tutted and uncovered the wounded arm.

Jim winced in sympathy. Bruce said he had been stabbed, but whatever weapon caused it, it must have sliced his muscles open on the way back. Fresh sutures were barely holding swollen skin together and the deep stab wound was still oozing slightly. It must have bled heavily before, no wonder Bruce was dizzy after the initial adrenaline rush was over.

“I am trying.” Bruce leaned on the table as Alfred worked on redressing the wound and took another sip. "Sorry," he said to the commissioner. "That's not the kind of entertainment I promised. At least I hope the catering is good, I couldn't try it." He didn’t bother to hide his weariness from his voice.

"Never mind that," Jim shrugged him off. "The food is excellent and trust me, I really don't want to do any more business tonight."

"No?" Bruce looked up and offered a pained smile. "And here I was hoping talking business to you would be a good excuse for our absence now."

"If anyone cares to ask, sure."

“I would appreciate it if you could stick to just talking, master Wayne,” Alfred commented as he helped his employer with the fresh shirt and then the jacket. “I don’t think you need any more excitement today.

“Yeah.” Bruce ran his good hand through his hair, slipped the wounded one in the pocket of his trousers and Jim watched in amazement as he transformed back into the billionaire with an easy smile plastered to his face. “Well, Commissioner, I’m sure we can find some dreadfully boring topic to talk about.”

#whumptober2024 #no.22 #bleeding through bandages #Batman #fic #Bruce Wayne #Jim Gordon #Alfred Pennyworth #friendship

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arianaofimladris · 5 days ago

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Ugh, unfollowing a blog with Tolkien illustrations, because it's shitting US politics left and right. Not what the blog name suggested.

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arianaofimladris · 9 days ago

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The current building we are working on provided me with some stunning sceneries this morning.

We are working on a tiny Hogwart 😃

#Misty morning #personal

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arianaofimladris · 13 days ago

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Batman Whumptober 2024 entry

Fandom: Batman (Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy)

Prompts filled: No. 20 Emotional angst Alt. Finding old messages

"Master Bruce?" Alfred knocked on the wooden door frame, since the door was wide open. "I found something for you."

"I don't want it." The boy didn't even look up from his homework. From the way he was sitting, Alfred could tell he wasn’t really paying attention.

"It's something your father ordered well ahead of your birthday," Alfred said softly. He was stepping on thin ice there. "I'm sorry I forgot about-"

Whole story available under the cut or here:

Lost in time

Alfred entered the master bedroom with a heavy heart. For the past few months he has been coming here to do the basic cleaning, sometimes to let in some fresh air. The room still looked like its occupants lived there, like they were about to return at any moment. Today, for the first time Alfred was about to change something. He had talked this through with Bruce and the boy agreed that most of his parents' clothes should be given away to charity his mother had run, as long as Alfred promised not to touch his mother's jewellery and his father's medical equipment. Since he refused to partake, even as much as enter his parents' bedroom, Alfred set on the task alone.

He tried not to dwell on what he was doing, hard as it was. He packed shelf after shelf into bags, checking pockets for any forgotten items and occasionally putting away something stained or with missing buttons. There was one small pile he placed separately on the bed, mostly consisting of Thomas Wayne's belts, ties and bowties. Since they were all of excellent quality and also something that would not go easily out of fashion, Alfred intended to keep them for Bruce.

He was going through Thomas Wayne's jumpers and less formal clothes, when he found an elegant box with Bruce's initials on the lid. He had seen it before when he had collected it for master Wayne, but then its existence slipped his mind. He remembered Thomas Wayne saying it was supposed to be a birthday gift for his son.

Deciding he could use a bit of a break, Alfred took the box and went to check on Bruce. He knew the boy would unlikely look for him in here, even if he needed something.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred knocked on the wooden door frame, since the door was wide open. "I found something for you."

"I don't want it." The boy didn't even look up from his homework. From the way he was sitting, Alfred could tell he wasn’t really paying attention.

"It's something your father ordered well ahead of your birthday," Alfred said softly. He was stepping on thin ice there. "I'm sorry I forgot about-"

"I said I don't want it!" Bruce yelled and slammed his book shut. He was up in an instant, ready to flee. "Take it away! I don't- Just- go a-away-," his voice broke and he choked on his words.

Alfred didn't move. Most of the time he found himself helpless when faced with Bruce's grief, still so raw and boiling right under the surface of the subdued child, threatening to explode at the slightest opportunity. But walking away and leaving him to drown in his sorrows alone was never an option.

The boy didn't run. Just like on many days before this one, soon Alfred had his arms full of a sobbing child as Bruce clang to him. He placed the box on the desk and steered the boy to sit with him on a sofa. In moments like this, Bruce rarely opposed guidance, too lost in tears to really pay attention.

They sat like this for a while. Alfred kept his arm around the boy's shaking frame, allowing him to cry. It still happened a lot. Bruce rarely sought him out when he needed comfort, but never missed an opportunity when Alfred happened to be around.

"I just- just want them back," Bruce whispered and moved away to sit straight. He tried to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

"I know, master Bruce. I know." Alfred gently rubbed his back and offered him a handkerchief. It was unlikely the boy would seek physical comfort again. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd want to see this."

"Okay." Bruce didn't really seem convinced, but nodded.

Alfred brought him the box and the boy stared at it for a long time before hesitantly opening the lid. There was a watch with engraved dedication on the back. Bruce took it out with great care, but when he saw the inscription, he promptly put it back and shut the box.

"I don't want it. Take it away."

"Very well, master Bruce, I will take it for now." Alfred took the box from him. "It will be waiting for you in a safe place, if you change your mind."

***

The Wayne Manor, or rather what was left of it, was a grim testimony that the recent events were not just a nightmare. The whole place had been secured by a fence to prevent curious trespassers from getting hurt, but it was hardly a suitable protection against potential thieves, should anyone try.

Bruce had taken a van from Wayne Enterprises, now full of plastic storage boxes. They intended to pack whatever smaller valuables they could salvage before the cleaning service would take larger things for renovation. As it turned out, there was a lot of stuff surprisingly alright under the ashes, so they set to work.

"Master Wayne! I think the safe here is quite intact under that," Alfred called from what once had been Thomas Wayne's office, one that Bruce never adapted as his.

Bruce came over and took a moment to examine half smouldered beams barring the way. Once he was sure removing them would not cause anything to collapse, he worked on clearing the way while Alfred brought one of the smaller storage boxes.

The safe was indeed untouched and soon Bruce was packing the contents almost without looking, until he suddenly paused with a black box in his hands.

"You kept it," he whispered, his voice thick with emotions. "I told you so many times to get rid of it, and you kept it anyway."

"Of course." Alfred immediately recognised the package. He came closer and placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder. During his teenage years, Bruce had almost always reacted violently to any suggestion of wearing anything that belonged to his father, this last birthday gift included. Alfred decided not to mention that he had placed the watch in the safe, as well as old family albums, so that they would not fall victim to the boy's angry outbursts.

Bruce opened the box and retrieved the watch. He turned it around and brushed the engraving with his thumb.

"Well. It won't fit me now," he commented, trying to keep his voice light, but he couldn't hide his remorse completely.

"Oh, it should. There are remaining parts underneath," Alfred pointed at the cushion in the box. The bracelet had been fitted for a ten year old, but it was a regular adult watch. "I kept it serviced every couple of years, so it should be working. I can have it fitted for you."

Bruce looked up." Yeah. I think I'd like that." He carefully packed the watch and placed it in the storage box along with the rest. "Alfred? Thank you."

#whumptober2024 #no.20 #no.12 #emotional angst #altprompt #finding old messages #Batman #fic #Bruce Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #Batman fanfic

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arianaofimladris · 14 days ago

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Guess who made another crochet shawl... This way Im done with 2 out of 3 shawls I planned as Christmas gifts.

Still not my colors, but I like them better in the finished shawl than I did in the yarn cake. I hope my grandma will like it.

#handmade stuff #Crochet #Crochet shawl #My stuff #Early Christmas presents making #This damn takes time

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arianaofimladris · 18 days ago

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Me: oh yes, I will usw those two ideaa I had for random Whumptober entries and fulfill some prompts.

Oh. Here's a third idea (that already mutated into 3k long story I published).

And here pops up another completely random concept for prompts I didn't even consider.

So now I have one published story and three UFOs. Hi there.

(and I love it)

#personal #writing #Whumptober

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arianaofimladris · 19 days ago

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Funny looking banana

(via)

#this banana kinda sssssssucks #but it's cute

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arianaofimladris · 20 days ago

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Dropping random Batman Whumptober bits because I enjoyed writing that. My friend keep insisting that I'm writing Cracktober, but who said there can't be a bit of fluff there as well?

"Daddy? Is Batman here?"

Bruce froze at the question asked in a childish voice, his right hand pressing awkwardly the gauze over his left shoulder. He turned and saw Gordon's son standing in the hall, in a dark green hoodie still on and with a backpack on one shoulder.

Jim recovered first. "No, Jimmy. It's just Mr Wayne."

"Oh." The boy looked perplexed for a moment, as if seeing Batman in his bathroom would have been less surprising. “Good evening.”

“Hello.” Bruce relaxed and decided some explanation was in order. "I… Well, I had a motor accident this morning, but then I was told my... Someone very close to me was taken to hospital, so I didn't get this cleaned. Your dad was kind to help me out,” he said, glad that he didn't exactly have to lie to the boy.

"Falling from a bike sucks," the boy nodded in understanding, then glanced at what he could still see of Bruce's back and winced. "Did you wear a helmet?" The stern look he gave him made Bruce chuckle.

"Yes, I did.”

“Ah, blast it,” Gordon shut the cupboard under the sink. “Jimmy, do you know where mum put band aids? I need more.”

“I have some!” The boy dropped his backpack and retrieved a Halloween themed package from a side pocket.

"Thanks, but these are too small. I need a roll."

"Not for this one," Jimmy pointed at a wound over Bruce’s elbow and handed him the biggest band aid with a toothy pumpkin and a grinning bat.

Whole story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59640451/chapters/152109811

#whumptober2024 #no.13 #team as a family #batman #fic #hurt/comfort #family #fluff

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arianaofimladris · 20 days ago

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Whumptober 2024

Fandom: Batman (Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy)

Prompts filled: No. 6 Not realising they're injured No. 8 Sleep deprivation No. 13 Team as a family No. 15 Childhood trauma No. 16 Wound cleaning No. 30 Hospital bed

Summary: Alfred gets shot, Batman is wounded and Bruce Wayne gets some help from a friend.

"Have you seen yourself in a mirror? Don't go after them like this.” He grabbed him by the shoulder and Bruce almost screamed. What in the name…?

White, hot pain flared the left side of his back and for a moment Bruce saw nothing. Now that he thought of it, he doubted he had a single spot of untouched skin from his collarbone, down his back and left shoulder blade - an unlucky result of an unlucky motor chase Batman had had in the morning, which at some point had him dragged behind a vehicle he had been trying to get on.

“Hey, I mean it.” Jim didn’t take his hand off his shoulder and Bruce was hard pressed to stay still as not to aggravate whatever was wrong there. “Go home, get some sleep, or dammit, go back there and sit with him if you need to. Just don't do anything stupid."

"I don't do stupid," Bruce hissed when he was more confident he wouldn’t just yelp.

"Usually," Jim agreed. Whatever showed on Bruce's face, it made the commissioner soften. "You know, I promised Mr Pennyworth to keep an eye on you if something like this ever happened."

The whole story is under the cut below, or on AO3

"You still here?"

Bruce startled at the familiar voice directly over his head. He didn't realise he had nodded off, but as he looked up, he barely managed to prevent a gasp escaping his lips. His neck had gone stiff and the moment he shifted, his back reminded him why sudden movements were a poor idea - a testimony to a really rough night Batman had had, followed by a shitty day Bruce Wayne was having.

He wasn't even supposed to be here anymore, in the soulless waiting room. Alfred was out of surgery and safe in the hands of Gotham's best doctors. They had told Bruce they were going to keep the butler sedated till the next morning, but they assured him they had removed the bullet and that Alfred was expected to make a full recovery. There was little for Bruce to do at the hospital and he had meant to leave, just needed to sit for a moment... And apparently take an unplanned nap.

The waiting room was empty now, save for Bruce himself and for Jim Gordon standing over him. He was surprised to see the commissioner still at the hospital, but perhaps the investigation took this long, or perhaps he had been waiting to be able to talk to the witnesses of the robbery. While Alfred was still out of it, most of the people caught in the shooting had come relatively unscratched.

"I was about to leave." Bruce ran his hand down his face in a vain attempt to push the sleepiness away, then rose carefully. "Alfred's safe and I need to..." he made a vague gesture, knowing Jim would understand. The day was slowly ending. It was time for Batman to deal with some unfinished business from the previous night. If he was lucky, he would do that quickly and then perhaps catch a few hours of sleep before the next morning.

The commissioner must have picked all of that. "Have you seen yourself in a mirror? Don't go after them like this.” He grabbed him by the shoulder and Bruce almost screamed. What in the name…?

"I don't do stupid," Bruce hissed when he was more confident he wouldn’t just yelp.

"Usually," Jim agreed. Whatever showed on Bruce's face, it made the commissioner soften. "You know, I promised Mr Pennyworth to keep an eye on you if something like this ever happened."

"I don't need minding." With one swift movement, Bruce escaped the hand abusing his back, but the comment let a bit of warmth in for the first time this long day. Of course Alfred would have thought of making sure Bruce was safe and not alone when the butler himself would be unable to see to that. With Jim knowing the truth now, it was possible.

"No, but you look like you could use a friendly face and a lift."

"I have a car here."

"You might want to verify that," Gordon snorted. "Next time you don't want your car towed, don't leave it parked at the entrance." There was more amusement than reproach in Jim's voice, though Bruce was aware he would not have been this easily excused under any other circumstances. "I can give you a lift to the police parking, if you promise to go home later."

"Thanks." Bruce simply nodded and followed his older friend. Perhaps he should indeed go to the penthouse first and at least take a shower. Now that he started moving again, he could feel that his t-shirt – his black Batman t-shirt he hadn’t had time to take off – was glued to his back. Perhaps he should also grasp something decent to eat, something that wasn’t a snack from a vending machine or yet another horrible coffee.

Once they reached Jim’s car, Bruce sank on the passenger seat and leaned forwards, dreading to put any pressure on his back. He had been pushing the pain and discomfort aside for most of the day, his mind too occupied with Alfred having been shot and undergoing a surgery, but now that he knew the butler was not in danger, the past thirty hours were finally catching up on him.

"Alright." Jim shut the doors and turned the engine on. Bruce glanced to the left and saw that the commissioner looking at him with visible concern, now that they were alone. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Bruce shrugged and winced. "Didn't have time to check, but I don't think it's anything serious. Just... Long day," he tried his usual easy smile, but the way Jim just glared at him told him it didn't really work. "Really, it's fine. Just drop me off and I will go home." He would be alright. Had anything been broken, he would have known by now. There was something definitely wrong with his left shoulder, likely a torn muscle or rotator from when he was dragged before he managed to pull himself on the motor. This, he could live with. Taping the abused muscles was probably going to be a challenge without Alfred’s help, but that was something Bruce preferred to deal once he was back in the penthouse.

"And see to whatever's on your back on your own? I don't think so." Jim commented when Bruce couldn't completely hide a pained hiss as he carefully leaned back to fasten the seatbelt. “We’ll go my place first and get you sorted.”

“Alright.”

They couldn’t risk talking freely in a police car, so the ride was filled first with awkward silence, then with Jim making vague comments about his day’s work – something a police commissioner could share with the local billionaire that was becoming his friend. Bruce didn’t really mind. They could probably talk about the details later, preferably with a strong coffee at hand.

The flat was empty. As Jim explained when they went in, his wife and daughter were visiting Barbara’s parents and Jimmy was still with his friend a few blocks away. Bruce took off his jacket and dark blue jumper in the cramped hallway, but when he tried to tug at his t-shirt, he couldn’t help but hiss.

"It's stuck," Bruce muttered at Jim's inquiring glance. He hated the idea of ripping open whatever abrasions he had there. "I should probably wet it first." He probed the fabric and winced. Something was definitely bleeding or oozing.

"The bathroom's down the hall, to the left," Jim offered and before Bruce could really object, he was given a dark grey towel. "I will try to find you something to wear. I'm afraid most of my clothes won't fit you, but I should have a loose t-shirt somewhere."

This wasn't like most of the situations when he had to interact with the Commissioner, either as Batman or as Bruce Wayne in public. They were usually business partners one way or the other, and rarely just friends.

"Jim." Bruce paused with a towel hanging awkwardly in his hands. Alfred was the only person who cared for him like that. "You don't need to do this."

"Yes, I do." Came the obvious reply. "Feel free to take a shower and let me know when you need help. I bet you want some coffee, God knows I do."

On rate occasions, usually when Bruce was dead on his feet, Alfred could make him feel like a boy. Somehow Gordon managed the same. Tired as he was, Bruce decided there was little point in arguing against what was a sound suggestion. He went to the bathroom like he was told, trying not to feel like he was invading someone's privacy.

Even under a steady stream of water, taking off his t-shirt proved to be an unpleasant process of tearing half dried abrasions open again. It didn't help that he couldn’t lift his left elbow above the shoulder level and that the black shirt he normally wore under Batman suit was a fitting one. Gritting his teeth, Bruce pulled the shirt over his head. He kept the showering short, aware that had he allowed himself to sit down there, he would have likely fallen asleep and probably caused alarm.

Once he got out and dried himself, grateful that the towel was dark, one look in the mirror made him abandon any hopes for taping his abused muscles. His shoulder blade and his back below was an angry mess of widespread oozing abrasions and bruises that were already turning dark purple, leaving hardly any space for tapes. Jim was right. There was no way he could dress it on his own.

"You alright there?" As if called, Jim tapped from the other side.

"Yeah." Bruce opened the door.

Gordon came in with a wooden kitchen stool and motioned his guest to sit. Bruce obeyed, glad that he wasn’t forced to do any twisting acrobatics in order to reach the wounds. He stayed still as Jim cleaned his back, trying not to hiss and flinch at the pressure.

“Almost done,” Gordon promised and Bruce didn’t miss the parental tone in his voice. “Can you hold the gauze? I’m out of plaster.”

“Sure.”

"Daddy? Is Batman here?"

Jim recovered first. "No, Jimmy. It's just Mr Wayne."

"Oh." The boy looked perplexed for a moment, as if seeing Batman in his bathroom would have been less surprising. “Good evening.”

"Yes, I did.”

“Ah, blast it,” Gordon shut the cupboard under the sink. “Jimmy, do you know where mum put band aids? I need more.”

“I have some!” The boy dropped his backpack and retrieved a Halloween themed package from a side pocket.

"Thanks, but these are too small. I need a roll."

"Not for this one," Jimmy pointed at a wound over Bruce’s elbow and handed him the biggest band aid with a toothy pumpkin and a grinning bat.

In the end Gordon secured the last gauze with a mix of regular and Halloween band aids, since the roll was nowhere to be found. Bruce struggled to put on a loose t-shirt Jim offered him and glanced in the mirror. He ended up having not one, but two bat band aids visible, one on his elbow and the other a little above it, because Jimmy claimed they were the best and the whole situation was too absurd for Bruce to argue.

“Dad, can we make supper now? I’m hungry.” Jimmy slipped back to the bathroom to wash his hands.

“Sure.”

“I have a restaurant nearby,” Bruce joined in. Now that the boy mentioned food, his own stomach reminded him he hadn’t had a normal meal since last evening. “If I order, they should deliver in about 25 minutes. They make the best pasta.”

Jimmy stared at him again. “So you can be like, erm, a normal guy,” the boy deadpanned and Bruce couldn’t help but laugh both at the comment and at Gordon’s exasperated expression.

“Sometimes, but that’s a secret.”

***

Much to his embarrassment, Bruce had fallen asleep on Gordon's sofa after they had eaten and he got some painkillers. Jimmy had been determined to show him something and Bruce complied. He had meant to call a taxi and go home, but somehow ended up dropping dead to the living world. He woke up around seven when Jimmy was already preparing for school and Jim renewed his offer to drop Bruce to the police parking.

Bruce didn't argue. A night's sleep improved his comprehension, but sleeping on a coach did nothing good to his injuries. He had gone overnight from stiff and sore to barely able to move and his left shoulder was basically out of any use, as he learned the hard way when he put on his jumper and jacket.

Once he paid the fine and got his car back, Bruce went to the penthouse to at least attempt to make himself presentable, then packed a bag for Alfred and headed to the hospital. He was told the butler had woken up in the early morning, that he had been lucid and aware of his current condition and that he was now simply resting. Since no one forbade him to sit in Alfred's room, Bruce moved a plastic chair to the wall where he could sit and lean a bit on his good side.

Bruce rarely saw it, or rarely allowed himself to acknowledge it, but lying like this in a hospital bed, with monitoring machines still attached to him, Alfred looked fragile and old. In a way, this was a fear Bruce had yet to face and now that he was, he found himself struggling. Only now did he realise how much he had needed a friendly face and a hilarious at times distraction the previous evening. He would have to thank Jim again later.

Re-watching his parents die in a dream was a regular recurrence, but it was something that had already happened, a childhood wound that kept reminding of itself, but one that was like an old familiar ache. There was nothing Bruce could do about it except trying to improve the situation in Gotham, something he was still trying as Batman. However, the possibility of Alfred ever sharing the fate of Bruce's parents was another matter entirely. It could happen, considering the place they lived in. It almost did happen and for all his trying, Bruce – Batman – had not been able to prevent the attack. Alfred just happened to be in a wrong place at a wrong time, he was a random victim to yet another group of criminals trying to get some easy money from robbery.

Bruce drew a longer breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He thought he had his fears controlled, and yet, this time he seemed as lost as he had been in his worst years. He focused on the steady beeping of the machines. Alfred was right there, on his way to recovery. He wasn't-

"I don't usually see you awake at this hour, sir."

The comment came out soft and raspy, but as Bruce looked up, he saw the butler watching him fully awake.

"Morning, Alfred." He found himself grinning and breathing become a little easier. "Barely awake," he muttered with exasperation, unconsciously slipping right into their usual pattern.

"I recon."

"Wait, take it easy, please." Bruce moved to adjust Alfred's bed to a more sitting position since the butler was trying to sit up. "How do you feel?"

The butler paused for a moment. "Alright, considering." He didn’t try to move again. "But I think I missed something, master Wayne." There was some mirth in Alfred's voice and a hint of smile, but his eyes were clearly scanning Bruce for what he could not see under the clothing.

Bruce glanced down and realised Alfred was looking at the band aids with bats he still had on his arm. The hospital room was warm and he had taken off his jumper.

"Ah." he chuckled. "That. A little motor accident last morning. Don't worry, Jim Gordon helped me sort it out." He didn't intend to mention how poorly he was feeling at the moment. He was only functioning, if barely, thanks to the strongest painkillers he found at the penthouse, ones that still allowed him to drive a car afterwards. But Alfred had been shot, so Bruce wasn’t going to let him worry right now. “His son helped.”

"Very accurate. I think you should buy more of these while there’s still season, sir,” Alfred suggested lightly, but he didn’t look entirely convinced by Bruce’s dismissal. "I'm afraid you will have to manage the house and the rest without me for a bit. I doubt they will just let me go home today.”

“Not in a week at least, I asked,” Bruce replied. He didn’t want Alfred out of full hospital care until they were sure it was safe for him to leave.

“Then you will have to deal with the window cleaning service, master Wayne.” Alfred looked mildly terrified, as if the idea was offensive. “They’re scheduled for Friday, you’ll find the details in my planer.”

“I’ll tell Ann to reschedule that. I'm sure we can survive without window cleaning for the next month,” Bruce shrugged him off. That wasn’t something he wished to deal with now.

Alfred didn’t seem at all amused. “I’m sure we can’t, sir”.

“Alright, alright.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a nurse. She was about to help Alfred with hygiene, so Bruce was asked to leave. Since the butler was likely to go back to sleep soon anyway, Bruce decided to check on the Wayne Enterprises and come back during meal time, in case Alfred needed some assistance. He was also going to see his physiotherapist and sell her the same motor accident excuse to have her help him with redressing his wounds for the next few days.

Perhaps he was even going to deal with that window cleaning service.

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