#also idk but i don't imagine alfred thinking like master and sir in his head? and it would be annoying to write :D

[jasonsbruce]

Alfred descended into the Batcave with a tray of tea in his hand, his footsteps nearly soundless. The soft hum of familiar voices reached his ears as he approached the entrance. Bruce and Jason were already there, just as Alfred had anticipated—they had returned from a mission not too long ago. Jason was perched on the medical table, legs dangling, while Bruce stood between them, tending to an injury. As Alfred neared the base of the stairs, a snippet of their conversation made him pause. He ignored his instinct to clear his throat and announce his presence, and instead he lingered by the last step, listening to the exchange.

“You’re reckless,” Bruce muttered as he applied antiseptic to Jason’s injury. There was no anger in his voice, only something akin to weariness. “You can’t keep rushing in like that.”

Jason’s shirt was tossed to the side, leaving his chest bare and bruised from just another night of reckless patrol.

“Why not? Aren’t you watching my back?” Jason replied, his tone was almost playful, but there was something in the way he said it—something that made Alfred frown.

Bruce’s hands stilled for a moment as if Jason’s words caught him off guard. He didn’t meet his eyes, keeping his focus on the injury instead.

“I am,” Bruce said, his voice a little too controlled. “But I can’t keep pulling you out of danger every time. One day I might not be fast enough.”

Bruce’s fingers moved onto the next injury; a deep, purple bruise spreading across Jason’s ribs. His touch seemed delicate as he assessed the damage.

“I can take care of myself,” Jason said, his voice too casual, brushing off the gravity of his injuries. It was a trait he shared with Bruce, one that Alfred did not approve of. It was a bad habit.

Bruce’s jaw tightened at that, and instead of responding immediately, his fingers pressed into one of the darker bruises along Jason’s ribs, applying just enough pressure to make him wince.

“Really?” Bruce's voice was low, frustrated and full of disbelief.

Jason hissed through his teeth. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m a little banged up. It’s not the first time. It happens. It’s a part of it, right?”

Bruce’s hand stayed on the bruise, his thumb brushing the edge of it almost unconsciously, the touch lingering longer than necessary. “You could’ve been worse than banged up. You could’ve been dead.”

Alfred could feel the tension in the room growing thicker for each passing second. He had seen Bruce worried before, he had seen him angry. But this was different. He didn’t recognize it. Bruce lifted his gaze from the injuries to Jason’s eyes, and for a moment, it seemed as if something unspoken passed between them—something Alfred couldn’t quite comprehend.

“But I’m not,” Jason countered softly, almost sounding teasing.

Bruce sighed, his hand slipping from Jason’s side. “Because I was there,” he muttered.

There was a brief pause, the silence felt thick and heavy. It was unbearable. Alfred wanted to intervene but for some unknown reason, he couldn’t bring himself to break the moment yet.

“Besides,” Jason’s voice broke through the tension, quieter now. “I didn’t rush in. I was distracted.”

“Distracted?” Bruce’s brow furrowed.

“Yeah. By you.” Jason’s lips curled slightly at the corners. “You can be very distracting.”

Bruce tensed, his entire posture tightened, and yet he still didn’t pull away. His hands twitched at his sides, as if fighting the urge to reach out again. “Jason—”

“You’re always watching me, Bruce. You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t feel it?” Jason interrupted, his tone was almost accusatory, but his voice softened again, dropping lower. “It’s distracting.”

Bruce swallowed, his gaze never leaving Jason’s. There seemed to be a crack in his composure. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You keep putting yourself in danger. I have to watch you.”

This made Jason’s slight smile grow into a full smirk. “And what’s your excuse when it’s just the two of us?”

Something flickered across Bruce’s face, almost like agony. It seemed like he was caught between what he wanted to say and what he knew he shouldn’t say. Alfred was still clinging to the hope that Bruce would shut this down, and when he sighed, long and deep, and looked away, Alfred wanted to believe that was the end of it.

But Jason was no longer sitting. He stood, deliberately slow, and when he did, there was hardly any space left between them. Bruce still hadn’t moved. Neither of them had, and it seemed like creating space was the last thing on their mind. Their faces were too close to each other.

Bruce was supposed to be Jason’s protector, his guardian—the man who had taken in a lost boy and promised him safety. Whether Jason realized it or not, he still looked to Bruce for guidance, for the security that only a father figure could provide. But this—this would only lead to more pain. And heaven knows, Jason didn’t need any more of that.

Stop Bruce, Alfred urged silently. You know better. You must know better.

For a moment, Alfred thought Bruce might step back and regain control, might ground himself in the principles he’d held onto for so long. He prided himself on how strong Bruce was—not just physically, but mentally. It was one of his defining traits, the thing that set him apart. His moral code was ironclad, something he clung to with unwavering conviction. He always knew right from wrong, always stayed on the right side of that delicate line.

But then Bruce muttered under his breath, almost too quiet for Alfred to hear, “I don’t have one.”

Alfred’s heart sank, an overwhelming wave of disappointment crashing over him. This wasn’t just playful flirting, or a lapse in judgment that could be shrugged off later. This was something far worse.

Bruce was on the verge of making a mistake that would haunt him for the rest of his life. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Bruce was supposed to be the one who resisted, the one who knew better. He had built his life around control, around mastering every impulse, every temptation. It was what Alfred had always admired in him—his ability to stand firm, no matter how strong the pull of desire or anger.

He watched in silent horror as Bruce’s gaze drifted downward, locking onto Jason's lips. He saw the subtle shift in Jason’s posture, saw how the younger man leaned in, as though daring Bruce to close the distance. Their breaths mingled, and Alfred could almost feel the tension from across the cave.

This couldn’t happen. Not on his watch. Not now. Not ever.

Bruce inched closer, the space between them vanishing. Their lips hovered dangerously close. Alfred could see the final decision forming in Bruce’s eyes, could feel the moment slipping beyond his grasp. If he didn’t act now, it would be too late. If Bruce couldn’t recognize how improper this was, then Alfred had to help him.

So Alfred cleared his throat sharply. The sound echoed in the Batcave, shattering the tension in the air like glass. The two pulled apart so fast it was as if the heat between them had scorched them both.

Bruce’s expression shifted, hardening into the familiar mask of composure Alfred had seen him wear countless of times. It was as though a switch had been flipped. But underneath it all, there was still a flicker of emotions—desire, longing and the stress of almost being caught and crossing that line—just barely concealed beneath the surface.

Jason’s expression was harder to read; Alfred didn’t have the same years of practice with him as he did with Bruce. But he caught the brief flash of vulnerability in his eyes, quickly buried beneath a smirk. Jason cleared his throat as well, his gaze sliding away from Bruce, pretending as if nothing had happened.

Alfred stepped into the light, his expression carefully composed like he had just entered. He couldn’t let them know that he had seen everything.

“I thought you both might appreciate some tea,” he said, keeping his voice even as he placed the tray down in front of them.

Bruce blinked, still visibly rattled to those who knew him well enough to look underneath his composed mask. His hand reached for a cup, lifting it to his lips and Alfred could see the tension in his frame.

“Alfred,” Bruce murmured after a beat of silence, looking down into the cup as he realized something was off. “The tea… it’s cold.”

and there we go! if you read my previous fic about dick walking in on them, this is from the same story. i will eventually upload the whole thing on ao3 🖤 writing either tim or selina's perspective next!