Author's Note: This is something I thought of today. Thought it might play well as a one-shot, but maybe if reception is positive, I will make it into a series focusing on Damian growing up. Following a shower, Damian discovers something has changed. He cannot decide if it is normal or not, since he has no frame of reference. Being driven mad by a question he cannot answer, the boy turns to Alfred for counsel. Enjoy.

Puberty

I awake sometime in the early morning. I feel well-rested enough to resist the urge to sleep further and get up. Since Pennyworth is too lazy to rise at five like a normal servant would, I will have to wait for breakfast. I am not doing that corpse's work for him. I decide to forego my usual morning calisthenics since I still do not feel my injuries would agree with the stress and enjoy a shower instead. I am in the process of leaving the bathroom when something catches my eye in the mirror over the sink. There is something odd about my reflection. I scrutinize it carefully.

The discoloration on my ribs and shoulder are still visible, but these do not concern me. The faint outline of the bullet hole I sustained from Todd is also of no consequence. Through process of elimination, everything above my waist is discounted. I move further down. My eyes stop and focus. I cannot be certain, but I think it is bigger. I hold it and my index finger out for comparison. There is roughly half-an-inch of growth. I frown. I am unable to decide whether this is normal or not. I suppose eleven is not too young for developments of this sort. But is it normal? I hear a voice asking me, regardless of my desire to focus on other matters. I discontinue my examination and dress hurriedly. There are more productive ways of spending my morning. I head down to the cave.

I am relieved to find Father is not still working. I do not wish for conversation or even silence if he is present, particularly not now. The voice is still demanding an answer to a question I cannot answer: but is it normal? I don't know. Stop repeating it. I wish to work alone.

With Father, I always feel that he is watching me when we are in the same room. It often seems more like scrutiny or judgement than mere gawping. Pennyworth is in the habit of gawping at me. Sometimes he smiles, like my activities or efforts at self-improvement are somehow amusing. Father never smiles unless I become angry. Then he finds me amusing as well. They are both morons, my father at times and Pennyworth at all times. I sit down in the laboratory and continue work on my programmable projectiles, expecting the project to purge the voice and its maddening question.

"Good morning, Master Damian." I roll my eyes as the servant addresses me. I have had barely an hour to myself and already I am plagued by this withered husk's presence. I continue manipulating the circuitry under microscope, but the same voice has been harassing me throughout my work. But is it normal? I shake the thought loose.

"What do you want, Pennyworth?" I say, not bothering to hide my contempt. I hear his footsteps approach from behind.

"You mean other than to see your sunny smile, Sir?" He replies with too much discernable sarcasm for my taste. I do not look even when he is standing directly behind me. "I have come to give you your preferred breakfast: a four egg-white omelet, a small bowl of oatmeal and half of a freshly pitted avocado." Pennyworth explains setting down a tray beside me. I nod.

"Fine. Now go away. I am too busy to entertain your presence."

"So I can see. I take it you are still tinkering with the auto-pilot function of your shuriken?" He inquires. I have yet to keep the projectiles airborne for longer than a few seconds before I meet failure. If they are to be effective, they must be able to fly under their own power. But is it normal? That requires a proper guidance system and piloting function. I have been attending to the problems for the past seven days without success. I feel my mood sour further.

"That is none of your business, servant." I say returning to my work. But is it normal? This time the nagging voice results in me inadvertently shocking myself when my finger slips into the exposed wiring. My dentist's tool falls on the floor, out of my reach. I resist the urge to suck my now burnt finger in front of this cretin. But is it normal? Shut up. I slowly raise my head from the microscope. When I look to my left, I find Pennyworth holding out my dropped tool. He is smiling in amusement at me again. I glare at him.

"Would you like me to check your finger, Sir? It looked to be a nasty shock."

"No. I will be fine. Leave. Now." I say snatching the tool from his hand only to drop it again when my burnt finger refuses to cooperate. But is it normal? Go away. Go away now. The servant regards me again with a softer smile.

"Now may I check, young man?"

"Fine. Just be quick about it. I'm very busy with this project."

"Certainly." Pennyworth applies disinfectant to the burn before some kind of cream. He then covers the skin in gauze. He is efficient I suppose, if nothing else. It no longer hurts in any case. "Please take precautions, Master Damian. Wear gloves if you must tinker with exposed wires." He offers before standing up and preparing to leave. I consider my reflection. But is it normal? I cannot stand much more of this distraction.

"I wish to check something else with you, Pennyworth. Stay a moment…please." I call before he is too far away. He turns towards me.

"If you will call me Alfred instead of referring to me as if I am a military recruit, I may consider it." The old fossil responds haughtily. I bite my tongue. Is there some alternative to this humiliation? Would I want to discuss this issue with Father? I cannot foresee how I would ever broach this subject without dying a little inside. And what would he say in reply? But is it normal, Father? No, son, it is not. Kindly refrain from discussing it again. Should I ask Dick for advice? No, I could not utter such words over the phone or by video call. That would also result in the death of my pride, especially if he laughed inanely as is his custom. Perhaps there is another-

"I see such informalities are beneath you this morning, Master Damian. Please excuse me." Pennyworth says to interrupt my thought processes which are already being interrupted every few seconds by other unwanted elements. He turns towards the stairs. But is it normal? I swallow my pride.

"Please wait, Alfred!" I shout, my tone more desperate that I would have liked it to be. The servant turns and holds up a hand to indicate he is coming. A moment later he sits down beside me at the workbench. He puts a hand on the back of my neck and does not look amused by the situation at all.

"Are you alright, young man? I did not wish to say, but you do look uncharacteristically distressed this morning. What is it?" He asks. I feel his bony fingers kneading the flesh on my neck, a gesture I am told is meant to be comforting. For some reason, it is. Regardless of our respective positions – I, the master and he, the servant – I still hesitate in explaining my concerns. But is it normal? I have terrible suspicions such questions are not asked between men. I therefore give him caveats.

"Promise you will not tell my father…or laugh at me." I say.

"Of course not, Sir. This matter shall stay between us and be addressed with the utmost gravity. I promise you." Pennyworth assures me in a voice that holds no tricks or amusement. I sigh.

"Certain…appendages of my anatomy appear to have grown larger. To make it clearer…these elements are found below my waistline…and are of a sensitive nature." I say checking for the smallest hint of a smile on his face during each pause to ensue I am not being mocked or derided. He nods in understanding and his expression urges me to elaborate further. His fingers still knead my skin in a pleasant manner. The voice nags again, but I am able to ignore it. I continue. "The difference in size, that I have noticed, is half-an-inch. It appears to have grown by this much in the last month or so." The servant nods again. I believe he is waiting for a question to be posed. I try to feign nonchalance by shrugging my shoulders. "Is that kind of sudden growth normal in children my age?"

"It is not uncommon, Sir. Such rapid growth in such a place can often be attributed to the first signs of puberty in boys your age. Perhaps it could be seen as early, given you are barely eleven-and-a-half, but certainly not abnormal in any way. You have nothing to worry about I can assure you." He tells me with a smile I find supportive instead of facetious as is typical of our conversations. I nod.

"You know I'm talking about my p-"

"Yes, young man, I had gathered as much. You need not say more."

"Did my father ever express-"

"Yes, Master Damian, in his youth he certainly did. All of them did. Do not think you are the only one who has broached such a delicate subject. I am not ill-prepared for such a talk. If you ever wish for further advice or guidance, I am at your disposal." He says finally taking his hand from my neck. I find I miss it. I wait for the voice to pose its mantra-like question but it stays silent. The matter has been put to bed. I clear my throat.

"I…regret treating you with disdain during my tenure at this house, Alfred. It pains me to admit that I had not realized your worth to my father until this moment. Perhaps…in future…we might- I might, be more cordial to you." I articulate with some difficulty. I cannot quite find the right word to express my regret. Alfred – not Pennyworth, Alfred – raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Am I receiving an apology of sorts from you, Sir?" He inquires. That is it. That is the word I need: apologize. I do not believe I have ever uttered such things to a servant in my life. I nod my head.

"Yes, precisely. This is an apology, Alfred. I'm sorry for being so curt-" I stop when I see his disapproval at my choice of language in describing my actions towards him. I rephrase. "A brat. I'm sorry for being such a brat to you." He smiles in approval and amusement at my admission. For once I find I am able to smile too. He inclines his head in appreciation.

"I am very pleased to accept your apology, Master Damian. Please understand that I have never been offended by your behavior, merely disappointed you are not beneath such vulgar practices. Any man who is a prince should also be a gentleman." He informs me before extending a hand. "Let us shake on this matter and put it behind us, as gentlemen do." I incline my head in agreement and shake his hand. It disappears, apparently swallowed by the wrinkled and callused mass of flesh that characterizes the mummy's hand. I should be glad it is still warm.

"You shall say nothing of our discussion to my father?" I check. Alfred nods.

"You have my word."

"Thank you for listening. Now, please leave me to my work?"

"Yes, young man. Please get your breakfast before it grows cold. I will collect the plate in one hour." I watch him leave via the stairs. The start of puberty he says. I reach into my pants. Normal he claims. I take my hand out. If my father took his advice at my age concerning such matters, I will too. I go back to my work. I smile. I am finally growing up. I will be Batman soon enough.