Unidentified Flying Spider

Alfred is a smart man, this is something he prides himself on. He is a former British serviceman, he has seen death and destruction seemingly rain from the heavens around him. He has worked tirelessly for the Wayne family for over 40 years and has helped raise countless wayward children from all walks of life. He has tried his best to show them what it means to be loved, to love in return, to notice and enjoy the little things in life. What he did not teach, however, was ‘How to neglect a child in your care.’

He knows Bruce isn’t doing it intentionally, but that was never a question. Bruce doesn’t seem to realise that despite the potential of a threat looming over their heads, the thing posing the potential threat is still a child. 

A child that came into their care bruised, bloody and from the sky. 

Alfred is amazed that the boy was not more injured, after all, he did presumably freefall from a significant height.

Alfred and Bruce had conducted an initial exam once the boy had been brought to the medical wing, the blood on his skin washed away to show a confusing but surprisingly non-emergent list of injuries. An apparent gunshot wound was present in the boy's shoulder that, despite still being covered in dried blood, was closed and looked to be at least a month old. The boy’s skin was marred by what looked to be old electrical burns alongside scratches and gashes that Alfred is sure were once something much bigger. 

All in all, it was very peculiar. But it was also not his first time treating serious injuries, especially injuries that should be seen by a medical professional. So he worked, as Bruce watched on, and slowly cleaned the boy’s wounds. Most could go without anything more than a clean and some antiseptic, but a few on the back and stomach simply received an absorbent dressing. 

It’s clear the boy is a meta, if the fact he survived a fall as hard as he did is any indication, his abilities likely make him a formidable foe. Or, Alfred thinks, a very valuable ally.

Bruce had been uncomfortable when Alfred suggested himself as the one to go in and check the boy's injuries now that he was conscious, but Alfred knows it’s the smart choice. Bruce’s first impression as the bat wasn’t fantastic, this seems to be a common theme for him. But Alfred had yet to make an appearance, he could hopefully begin to build trust faster than Bruce would. 

Enough for the boy to give them some answers, Bruce had said. 

Enough for the boy to let himself be cared for, Alfred countered. 

After Bruce and the boy's last meeting, Alfred had taken a few liberties of his own to try and make their unexpected guest as comfortable as possible in his confinement. He knows that moving the boy elsewhere is completely out of the question, so comfort where possible is his top priority. The clinical white lights had been slowly dimmed over the last few hours and replaced with a warm white instead. 

Remote lighting control has to be one of Alfred’s favourite things this world has to offer. 

The meals Bruce settled on, plain chicken and rice, although barebones certainly did the job. The boy had only been provided the meal once so far, but a simple bit of non-fluid nutrition kicked what Alfred can only assume is a healing factor into gear. The bruising on the boy's arms had faded greatly, the other wounds though, would remain to be seen.

Bruce’s eyes kept moving from Alfred to the door of the room he was about to enter. “I don’t like this, you should just let me handle it” 

Alfred rolls his eyes at this “With all due respect, your method earlier was lacklustre at best.”

“I am making sure we’re safe, Alfred.”

“And I am making sure the boy is well, Master Bruce.”

Bruce pauses at this, considering the man in front of him for a moment before sighing. “Fine. But if anything goes wrong, you know where the panic button is.” Alfred has to stop himself from sighing at this. Treating the boy like a weapon will only inspire him to become a weapon.

“Yes, I do.” Alfred taps the spot beside the button resting on his belt, he wears it at all times of course, by Bruce’s request.

“Ok, just-” Bruce pauses, looking at the man in front of him for a moment, “please be careful.” 

“I always am.”

Alfred walks into the room wheeling a metal trolley covered with a large cloth. The boy, unsurprisingly and just as the cameras showed, still sits on the table in the middle of the room. The look on his face is curious at best and distrustful at worst. Alfred stops his trolley beside the door as it shuts behind him. Removing the cloth shows a basic wound dressing and cleaning kit and yet another plate of chicken and rice.

“Good evening, how are you doing?” Alfred decides to start with, not expecting an answer from the boy. He can only imagine it has been a rather poor day for the boy, waking up in a strange room after having crashed to the ground rather dramatically. He has busied himself with sorting his supplies when a small voice replies.

“Is it?” The boy's face is still distrustful but his eyes still hold the curious glint they had when Alfred walked in. 

“Is it what?” Alfred responds.

“Evening. If it is, is it a good one.?” The line of questioning feels slightly strange, but Alfred supposes he started it.

“I would say so, it may become even better if you eat.” Alfred's words are followed by a plate being held in the boy's direction. The plate from earlier in the day sits on the floor beside the table.

“What is it?” The boy squints at the plate being held towards him.

“Chicken and rice, plain food will be good for your stomach. Plus, you’ve already had it once without any adverse reaction so I would say it’s worth eating.” The boy sniffs once before quickly taking the plate out of Alfred's hands.

“No utensils I’m afraid, but it should be easy enough to eat.” The boy considers this, looking down at the food before picking up a piece of chicken and putting it in his mouth. He stares down at the plate for a moment longer before turning his gaze back to the man in front of him.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

The room falls into silence as Alfred busies himself again with his trolley and the boy continues to eat. Alfred makes a point of periodically turning his back to the boy, a show of trust, even if it is a rather small one. He can practically hear Bruce tearing his hair out at his ‘lack of care and sense’, but it is necessary for the sake of trust building. 

The silence ends when the boy quietly says “You were the one to change the colour of the lights, right?” Alfred turns in surprise to see the boy fiddling with the edge of the now-empty plate on his lap. 

“Yes, that was me. How did you know?”

The boy squints again at this, looking the man up and down. “Just a guess, you seem like someone who would think about something like that. Why did you do it?”

Alfred sighs at this, making a clear show of slowly stepping forward and reaching for the flimsy plate. The boy lets him take it. “Because if I were you, I wouldn’t want those bright white lights in my face. They hurt my eyes at the best of times and you, my boy, are not facing the best of times at the moment.” 

The boy seems to consider this for a moment before he finally speaks. “They were hurting my eyes.” 

Alfred smiles to himself at this admission, picking up both plates and tucking them away on his trolley. “Speaking of, I would like to take a look at your injuries.”

“Injuries?”

“Yes my boy, by the looks of things you took quite the beating before we found you. I would like to check on the injuries that we patched up to make sure they are healing well. Is that okay with you?”

The boy looks at the trolley, seemingly cataloguing the items on it in his head, taking his time to observe each item before moving on to the next, 

and the next, 

and the next.

“That’s fine.”

“Alright, just remove your shirt and I’ll get started. I will try and make this as quick as possible.”

The boy raises his arms to pull off his shirt, seemingly confused at the pain in his shoulder until he sees a bandage sitting in place.
“Oh,” the boy says quietly “I didn’t realise that was on there.” His gaze stays focused on his shoulder as Alfred wheels the trolley closer.

“Do you know how you got any of the injuries we patched up?” At Alfred's question, the boy shakes his head, keeping his eyes on his shoulder. 

“No… I didn’t even notice them until right now.”

“Would you like me to explain what everything is for before I use it?” Alfred asks, keeping the boy as comfortable as possible is his goal after all.

“No, that's okay…” the boy starts before trailing off, eyes flicking over to the medical supplies “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” 

The monotonous process begins after that. Alfred pulls off a bandage or some medical tape, the boy shows no outward reaction but watches his hands like a hawk. 

Alfred cleans a wound that looks like it should be much worse than it actually is, the boy does not react.

Alfred prods skin lightly or tests its temperature with the back of his hand, the boy does not react.

Alfred replaces bandages and tape, the boy does not react.

Finally, the last bandage is removed and the wound cleaned, the last piece of tape is replaced and the last of the supplies are placed back on the trolley.

“And we’re finished” Alfred looks up to the boy's face only to see his eyes are fixed on the top left corner of the room. His gaze appears to lock onto some kind of movement.

“Are you quite alright?” Alfred asks as he steps into the boy’s line of sight. Suddenly, the boy's eyes snap to him again, seemingly searching him up and down. Then the boy speaks.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“How did I get here? My brain feels so fuzzy, why can’t I remember anything?” The words come out in a rush, seemingly spilling out of the boy's mouth. Alfred sighs quietly to himself before answering.

“Your second and last questions are unfortunately things I cannot answer at this stage. I wish I could tell you why your memory is failing you but I truly do not know. As for your first question, you are somewhere safe, although it may not feel like it, it is the truth. You appeared on the grounds of this property completely unexpectedly and were brought here as a safety precaution.”

The boy is silent, seemingly stewing over Alfred’s words, staring at the ground in front of him with furrowed brows. When the boy doesn't move, Alfred takes this as his cue to leave, slowly wheeling his trolley back towards the door.

“Alfred?” The boy says quietly just as Alfred is turning to the door, waiting for it to be opened for him from the other side. 

“Yes?”

“You said I was brought here as a safety precaution. You didn’t mean my safety… did you?”

Alfred turns to look at the boy's face again, he is looking at Alfred with desperate, if not slightly frantic eyes. Then, the door opens and this conversation seems to have officially ended.

“I will see you later, rest up.”

The door closes, and the boy is left alone once again.

A short while later, Alfred would realise he never actually told the boy his name.