Alfred was used to there being silence in the manor now, how his steps were the only ones to walk the halls. The echoes had silenced themselves days ago, leaving him to himself.

It was days like these, where Alfred could do nothing but sweep the halls looking for the figure he knew would never appear, that he felt old. He felt all the aches in his muscles, the rubbing of his bones against each other.

He used to love this season, emptying out one of the many basements. Decorating the outside of the manor like it was one large Christmas tree, the inside like some fantasy winter wonderland. Master Bruce used to love it when he was younger—

Alfred paused, his shoulders sagging slightly before he stood up straight again. You were never meant to outlive your child. Alfred hasn't found the energy to decorate this year; every time he reached for that door his heart seemed to freeze in his chest, his stomach turning like it wanted to evict whatever he'd last managed to eat.

How could he look at all that tinsel and not feel sick? It was a time for happiness, for family. Not for someone who became the owner of the entire Wayne wealth because their charge had died. They had died when Alfred was meant to protect them.

Still, he has a turkey in the oven because as much as he would rather forget, today was Christmas and there were just some traditions he couldn't leave behind. If he didn't attempt to cook a Christmas dinner he might as well hand in his qualifications as a butler. Master Bruce would never let him live it down—

Alfred coughed, clearing his throat as he tugged at his uniform to fix it. It may be the first Christmas he's spent without Master Bruce since the boy was born, but it wasn't going to be the first year without Christmas dinner.

-----

Alfred closed his eyes, leaning over the counter as he tried to steady his breath. It was hard to will himself to walk out there and face the empty table. The house groaned, echoing the noise he wanted to release. Even the building seemed to mourn the death of its master, creaking and groaning softly. It was strange, the echoes had silenced themselves the past week, but it seemed like the house couldn't hold its sorrow on Christmas day.

He'd done his best to dress the table up, setting the long red table runner over it, sparkling snowflake glasses young Master Bruce had once begged for so many years ago. Gold ribbons on the chairs. But it still didn't feel right, it lacked the slight chaos of Master Bruce making some new gadgets to decorate the table. It missed—

Alfred breathed in deeply through his nose, holding it before letting it back out through his mouth. He clutched at the silver platter in front of him, lifting it up as it held the turkey.

Before he lost his cool, Alfred quickly turned around and strod out the kitchen heading towards the dinning hall. He could do this, just follow the routine he's had for years and he might just make it. He looked down at the turkey, already knowing the route enough times not to need to look where he was heading. The house groaned again, shuddering the way Alfred's chest did.

"That looks lovely, Alfred. Where was the turkey from?"

"From that place in Central you so love, Master Bruce," Alfred replied. Master Bruce— Alfred looked up sharply, freezing in his tracks as he spotted the man slowly walking towards him. He hardly felt it as the tray slipped from his grasp. "I— I appo—" Alfred stammered out, eyes fixated on Bruce.

Bruce smiled, holding the tray from where he caught it. "It is no worries, Alfred," Bruce said, looking at the man. "Shall we eat this dinner you laid out?" He questioned as he turned to the table and placed down the turkey.

Bruce froze as he felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. He smiled again, turning to face his father figure to properly hug him back.

Alfred moved quicker than he could process, wrapping his arms around the other man's body. "I am sorry, Master Bruce, this is so improper of me," Alfred whispered, resting his head against the other man's chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the tears running from them.

Bruce closed his eyes, resting his head against Alfred's. He could feel the dampness on his cheeks as he rocked Alfred slightly. "It's alright," Bruce muttered, his voice muffled.

Alfred shook harder, his body unwilling to listen as it broke down in Master Bruce's arms. His boy was back. His baby boy was back in his arms.

"I've got you now, Al," Bruce whispered, his voice wobbling slightly, holding the man closer as Alfred released a choked off sob at the nickname.

828

Merry Christmas! Apologise about how short this is, tomorrow's update is longer.