Alfred didn’t have to wake up Master Bruce this morning. Master Bruce woke up early in the morning, especially on the mornings of June 26.

Ah yes, June 26. The day that forever changed him.

Every morning on June 26, Master Bruce would visit the grave of his parents. In a stoic, solemn silence he would stand there, sometimes muttering his problems, other times staring sombrely at the grave without a single word being spoken. The lord only knew what he was thinking about. Alfred found it sad, lonely. Master Bruce would lock the gate to the graveyard, not letting anybody in. When Master Dick or Ms. Gordon were around, Master Bruce would occasionally grant them the rare privilege of joining in his mourning but unfortunately, Master Dick was nowhere to be seen and Ms. Gordon was in rehabilitation for the horrible injuries she had suffered.

It was later in this grey, cloudy morning that Master Bruce returned to the manor.

“Breakfast is ready, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce just gave him a simple nod and walked into the dining room. After a few minutes, Master Bruce exited the room. Alfred went in to clean the dishes. Master Bruce had barely touched his food.

…

When Matt came to, he was in a bed, the think mattress digging into his back like needles. The first thing he noticed was the bandages and plasters around his chest and arms. The second thing he noticed was that his face wasn’t covered.

“What the…”

Matt tried moving but his hands were tied to the railings. It was then he heard the heartbeat of a man looming over him.

“Matt Murdock.”

He’d never heard the Batman’s voice. It was deep like a dark valley.

“Where the hell am I?” Matt said, shaking his arms. He was bound tight. He could hear cars in the distance and hushed whispers but that showed no indication of where he was.

“You’re in…”

“A clinic,” Matt said. “A small one, I’m guessing. Not a lot of patients.”

You wouldn’t know it by seeing but the Batman looked taken aback. “How do you know that?” he asked, a slight inflection in his voice indicating curiosity and intrigue. His heartbeat jumping just a tiny bit.

“I’ll answer that when you tell me why there isn’t any blood circulation around your left leg.”

The Batman was quiet. There was nothing in his body chemistry that indicated that he was scared.

“Your father died when you were 12,” Batman said. “You never knew your mother.”

“What the hell does this have to do with anything?”

“You lost your eyesight when you were 9 years old,” Batman said. “You pushed an old man out of the way but because of that chemicals fell into your eyes.”

“Shut up or I swear to God I’m going to break out of here and beat you up myself.”

“Your dad was a prominent boxer back in his heyday,” Batman said. “Unfortunately, as he got older, he mixed up with the wrong crowd and…”

Matt ripped the railing out, he charged at Batman despite his wounds but Batman grabbed his arm, twisted it and threw him down on the floor.

“You shouldn’t move,” Batman said, grabbing his wrists and pinning him down. “You’ll open your wounds.”

“What the hell do you want?” Matt said through grit teeth, struggling under his grip.

“I want to know if you killed Roscoe Sweeney.”

…

It was finally night-time. Throughout the entire day Master Bruce hadn’t eaten anything. He had just been alone in the living room, fiddling with a wine glass. At night he put on that godforsaken costume.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

“Talk about what, Alfred?”

“Well, there’s the fact that you haven’t been out in public in quite a while,” Alfred said. “Batman may be an important part of Gotham but so is Bruce Wayne.”

“But my leg,” Master Bruce said. “It wouldn’t take much for someone to put two and two together and…”

“Are you scared of people finding out your secret identity?” Alfred said. “Or are you afraid that you’ll show some weakness, some vulnerability.”

Bruce was silent.

“Do you know Ms. Gordon doesn’t know that you lost a leg?” Alfred asked. “You haven’t visited her in…”

“I have visited her Alfred,” Master Bruce said.

“As Bruce Wayne, not Batman.”

There was a silence. “I…”

“Isolating yourself like this isn’t right Master Bruce,” Alfred said. “Not sharing your grief with others isn’t healthy. Did you know Ms. Gordon called you 8 times today to check up on you?”

Master Bruce was silent, he barely turned to meet his eyes.

“The only person you’ve met is Master Parker and that’s only for training,” Alfred said. “That isn’t healthy Master Bruce. They’re people who care about you, Master Bruce. You should let them in.”

Master Bruce was quiet. After a while he took a deep sigh. “Do you miss them, Alfred? Do you miss…” the words were almost hard for Bruce to say.

“Yes, Master Bruce,” Alfred said. “I miss them very much. There’s not a day that doesn’t go by where I don’t think of them. It hurts how I’ve…” Alfred cleared his throat. “Failed them.” Alfred paused. “But I had you Master Bruce, to share in my grief. All those years ago, there was a little boy who shared that grief with me and felt it just as intensely but nowadays, nowadays I’m not so sure anymore.”

The only sound was the screeching of bats and the dripping of water. Alfred dabbed his eyes with a tissue, silently so that Master Bruce wouldn’t see.

Master Bruce put on his cowl. He jumped into the Batmobile without saying a word. The Batmobile zoomed off in the distance, leaving Alfred behind in the dust.

It was the night of June 26^th, one year after their death. Alfred was headed to Master Bruce’s room in order to tell him dinner was ready and make sure he was doing well. What he didn’t expect was the door to be half open, he heard Master Bruce mutter something to himself. He was about to open up and tell him dinner was ready when he saw that he was kneeling by his bedside, hands clasped together as if he was praying. Light from his bedside table cast a harsh glow on his face. He still, his body stiff and his jaw clenched. And then Alfred saw his. Those eyes, those baby blue eyes of his weren’t those of a 9-year-old boy but that of an adult.

“I swear,” Master Bruce said, his voice like stone. “I swear by the grave of my parents that I will avenge them.”

Alfred felt his heart break. All of Master Bruce’s innocence was gone, he was no longer a child, forced to grow up so fast.

Dinner that night was silent. Alfred walked over to the large portrait of the Wayne family, Master Thomas in the middle of the frame, Madame Martha with a coy smile on her face with her hands on the shoulder of a 7-year-old Master Bruce, his blue eyes filled with optimism, a harsh contrast to how they looked now.

“I failed you Master Bruce,” Alfred said, choking back tears. “I failed all of you.”

On the night of June 26^th, Alfred Pennyworth mourned not only Master Thomas and Madame Martha whom he owed a lot to. On the night of June 26^th, Alfred mourned the childhood of a boy that was killed when those blood-stained pearls clattered on the floor.