Work Text:
“Alfred.”
Though the voice that spoke his name was hardly a whisper, Alfred started. Dick Grayson had not stirred for a day and a half, and though the boy’s vitals had remained stable for much of that time, the old butler had begun to truly worry.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Master Dick,” he said, pulling a chair to the boy’s bedside and taking a seat.
Both of Dick’s eyes were still mostly swollen shut. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t either bandaged or bruised. The sight made Alfred’s stomach churn, but he did not allow himself to look away.
“Alfred,” Dick said again. He swallowed, his throat clicking dryly.
“You should try to drink something,” Alfred said, reaching for the glass he’d left on the bedside table. “There, that’s it.”
Dick took a few little sips before dropping his head back onto the pillow behind him as if exhausted by that small effort.
“Alfred.” His voice came clearer now, but only barely.
“Yes, Master Dick?”
“Did… I tell…?”
Alfred’s stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, his heart twisting in his chest. He opened his mouth to answer, but found his throat locked against speech. Dick took a deep breath and asked again.
“Did I tell them… about Bruce?” Alfred could hear the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor behind him beginning to speed up. “I don’t… remember… Alfred?”
Alfred closed his eyes and forced himself to exhale. He took one of Dick’s hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, careful of the bruises and the stitched knuckles.
“You told them nothing, Master Dick,” he said, voice carefully level. “You never wavered.”
The tension left the boy in a gusty sigh. The heart monitor’s rhythm slowed again, and Dick turned his head away from the butler who’d patched him up.
Alfred sat with him for a moment longer, running his thumb along the back of the young ward’s hand and blinking the sting of tears from his eyes.