Bruce Wayne is indisputably, a man of many talents and few words. What more can be expected from the man who carries the safety and wellbeing of his beloved city on his back? After all, idiocy and carelessness don’t particularly make good ingredients for the recipe of vigilantism. His meticulous planning and proficiency as a detective should’ve prepared him for any curveball life could’ve possibly thrown at him!

Key word: should’ve.

The clock strikes midnight, signaling the beginning of his shift from the billionaire playboy, to the brooding Dark Knight.

The only disruption so far is the incessant knocking at the door—one which Alfred tends to, dusting himself off and revealing himself as the polished and refined butler as he opens the door.

The Manor’s security almost makes Fort Knox look comical. So it’s only reasonable he’d expect to see a familiar face, right? Perhaps Dick visiting from Blüdhaven with the intention of uniting his efforts with Bruce for old times’ sake.

What Alfred didn’t expect to see was a child, one with an uncanny resemblance to Bruce, he opens his mouth to speak—to inquire on how this child, with an undeniably innocent aura managed to get past the security measures. Before he’s even able to do so, the child cuts him off.

“You’re not Bruce Wayne,” the child notes, a slight grimace of disgust on their face.

Alfred raises an eyebrow, his hands folded behind his back. Still as poise as ever, “Indeed, I am not. However, I assure you, young one, that is entirely by design. Might I inquire who you are and what business you have with Master Wayne?”