Work Text:
It was always the children in distress that triggered something in Bruce. Especially when he came across children having witnessed something traumatic, it more than once brought back traumatic memories from his own childhood, and sent him spiralling down a path of anxiety.
Tonight was such a night.
During his rounds as the Batman, Bruce came across a young boy. All alone, sitting in an alleyway and covered in blood, the boy had just escaped from an apartment, where he had witnessed his mother being murdered.
At the crime scene, Bruce was fairly able to keep it together still, but he already knew what inevitably would be coming later for him. It always went like that…
The first signs of his oncoming panic attack came during his ride home.
Bruce felt a tightness settle into his chest that usually accompanied these episodes, and his hands trembled around the throttles of his motorbike. He grumbled into his helmet, frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t make the trembling stop. In fact, it even seemed to be spreading into his arms and shoulders already.
Bruce rode his motorbike into the cave under Wayne Manor. He just took the time to park it somewhat normally and take off his helmet, before stumbling over to the large workbench.
With still trembling hands, he took out the recording contact lens, dropping it onto its docking station to upload tonight’s images onto the computer.
It was as if the universe was mocking him, for the first image that popped up on the screen was a shot of the bloodied boy in that filthy alleyway.
The tiniest bit of hope Bruce still had of preventing himself from fully falling into anxiety’s arms was completely shot to bits by that single image.
The trembling increased yet further, rocking Bruce’s entire frame now. Control over his emotions slipped more and more from him with every second. He felt his heartbeat pound in his chest and neck, with his vision turning tunnel-like.
“S–stop,” Bruce whimpered weakly to his own trembling hands. He was desperate for this oncoming panic attack to just vanish, but he knew that wasn’t how these things worked.
The fear he felt during such attacks was always the worst. It paralyzed him and left him unable to do anything else but curl in on himself and disappear into the darkest and loneliest corner of Wayne Manor.
Bruce wrapped his arms around himself as he felt his knees give way. He sank to the ground, letting the inevitable panic attack envelop him completely.
His chest constricted, making his breath catch high in his throat. The trembling of his entire body was made even worse by his now wracking sobs. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings anymore. All that pressed down were fear and panic, and it weighed down heavy on his shoulders. Shoulders that couldn’t handle this.
Bruce drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on top of them. This felt like the worst panic attack he’d had in a long time, and he had no idea how to get himself out of it again. Everything felt so hopeless and endless.
All Bruce could do was sit here and go through every excruciating second of this…
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Alfred heard the sensor go off that indicated the basement gate had been opened, and knew Bruce had returned from his nightly duties.
He frowned slightly at the clock when he saw the time. Bruce was back early, which worried Alfred. It wouldn’t be the first time Bruce returned home sporting some sort of injury which required Alfred to patch it up again.
At first, Alfred tried to ignore the fact that Bruce was back alarmingly early. Maybe he just worried too much, and Bruce had simply returned because there was no crime for him to fight.
But the minute that thought came, Alfred realized his own idiocy. No crime in Gotham? Impossible! No, there must be another reason for Bruce to have come back home this early in the night.
So Alfred decided to have a look down in the Batcave to see what state he would find Bruce in. And he was sure glad he did…
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As soon as Alfred stepped out of the little lift that took him all the way down to the lowest level of Wayne Manor, he knew something was badly wrong.
His eyes immediately found Bruce sitting on the floor, curled in on himself, with his back pressed against a leg of the workbench.
Alfred sighed defeatedly. He knew exactly what this was. He had seen this before, and had helped Bruce through many panic attacks already.
Still, it didn’t make it any less painful for him to see Bruce like this.
Alfred silently approached Bruce.
He placed the desk chair a few feet in front of Bruce and quietly sat down on it. His bad leg made him unable to kneel down or sit on his haunches, no matter how badly he wanted to right now.
Bruce didn’t acknowledge him in any way. For all Alfred knew, the young man didn’t even realize he wasn’t alone anymore.
“Bruce?” Alfred spoke calmly. Bruce’s face was still hidden against his knees, but Alfred could clearly see him trembling all over. It looked like a big panic attack, or at least one of the biggest Bruce had had in a while. Alfred shortly wondered what triggered this, but quickly decided that wasn’t important now. All that mattered was trying to get Bruce to calm down and snap out of this episode.
“Bruce, what happened?” Alfred gently reached for Bruce’s wrist.
As soon as Alfred’s fingers touched his skin, Bruce reacted as if he’d been burned. He leapt into the air. Scrambling to find his footing and frantically backing away, he came to a halt on the other side of the workbench. With his hands planted firmly on the tabletop and legs unsteady like Bambi on ice, Bruce stood shaking and breathing hard.
“I’m sorry, too soon.” Alfred raised his hands in apology. He should’ve remembered: Bruce couldn’t stand physical contact at the height of a panic attack.
Bruce nodded his head once. It looked strained and somewhat forced, but Alfred saw it as a good sign that he was at least getting some sort of response.
Alfred stood up from the desk chair and slowly took a few steps closer to Bruce, leaning heavily on his cane.
“Tell me what happened.” Alfred’s words sounded kind, compassionate, and inviting to open up.
Bruce whimpered softly in reply. He actually wanted to tell Alfred, but found that the panic attack still held his ability to speak from him, and he had to settle for a quick hand gesture towards the computer screen.
Everything immediately clicked into place for him when Alfred saw the image of the bloodied boy still displayed on the monitor.
“Dear god,” he mumbled brokenly, for he knew exactly what trauma this had made Bruce relive.
Alfred passed a hand over his face. Being reminded of anything about his parents’ death was hard on Bruce, but coming across children who had experienced something similar usually left him unsettled for days. The result of that was right in front of Alfred now.
Now that he knew why, Alfred focused on getting Bruce out of it.
Bruce was still visibly shaking and breathing hard. His hands were wrapped so tightly around the edge of the workbench that his knuckles had turned completely white, and he stood with his head bent low, fairly unaware of his surroundings.
“Bruce.” Alfred kept his voice calm, yet urgent enough to hopefully get through to Bruce. “I know this is hard, but I need you to look at me.”
Bruce once again shook his head. He knew what would happen if he did. His emotions were still so high, that he was certain he would break down completely if he faced Alfred.
“Bruce…” Alfred nearly pleaded with him now. “You need to listen to me. I want to help you, but I can’t with you shutting me out like this.”
With every word Alfred spoke to him, Bruce felt the defenses he had built so well around himself all these years start to crumble.
“I… can’t…” He finally managed to whisper.
“You can,” Alfred said desperately, “and you must.”
It had been a long time since Alfred had felt this powerless. He saw it as a good sign that Bruce at least uttered a few words, but this episode wasn’t nearly over yet.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” Alfred tried one final time. “Don’t you think I miss your parents?”
It finally had the result Alfred so badly hoped for. An audible sob escaped Bruce, before he slowly raised his head.
Alfred felt a lump form in his throat upon seeing the look on Bruce’s face. It was a look of utter pain and desperation, displaying the hurt the loss of his parents still caused him all these years later.
“I’m scared, Alfred,” Bruce muttered softly, “scared of ever being that little boy again.”
“You won’t,” Alfred immediately countered.
“No, you don’t understand,” Bruce broke in before Alfred could finish. “I’m afraid of losing other people I care about. I’m afraid of losing… you.”
For the first time Bruce really made eye contact now. He was still shaking all over, and his breathing still was out of control, but confessing this made the weight of the panic attack a little lighter at least.
Alfred felt tears sting in his eyes. The confession caught him completely off guard. He tried to find words that would accurately express what he felt right now, but wasn’t able to.
Without properly thinking about it, Alfred reached out and placed his hand on Bruce’s.
Bruce gasped softly, yet didn’t pull away. Physical touch still wasn’t pleasant in his current state, but he knew Alfred meant well. And now that he thought of it: that hand on his was what was calming him down.
Bruce felt the tightness in his chest loosen, making it possible to breathe somewhat calmly again, and for the first time in a while he was able to make his hands stop shaking.
“I think we’re moving in the right direction, huh?” Alfred smiled warmly.
“Yeah.” Bruce nodded. He finally had enough control over himself again to unclench a hand from the workbench and pass it over his face. “Thank you, Alfred.”
“We’re not done yet,” Alfred answered seriously, “but we’ll talk about it some other time. For now, you look dead on your feet.”
Bruce couldn’t agree more to that. This panic attack had drained him of all his energy, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt more spent.
“Come on, I’ll make you some tea, and then you can get some sleep.” Alfred made to walk away.
“Alfred?” Bruce stopped him from doing so.
Alfred turned back to Bruce, and before he even properly realised what was happening, Bruce had flung his arms around Alfred in a tight embrace.
This was so unlike Bruce that Alfred hesitated a moment before answering the embrace and wrapping his arms around Bruce’s muscled shoulders.
“We’ll be alright,” Alfred mumbled softly as he held Bruce in his embrace. “You’ll be alright.”
“When?” Bruce mumbled back. An involuntary tremble ran through him once more.
“I don’t know,” Alfred answered earnestly, “but I promise you we’ll make it through. You and I, together we will.”
Bruce had to admit that Alfred’s embrace made him feel more at ease and safe than he had felt in a while. Deep down he was glad that Alfred had seen his panic attack of tonight, because Alfred knew what to do. Alfred always knew what to do. And Bruce just hoped that, someday, Alfred would know what it took to make him right again.