Hello from the author.

I'm new to the batman universe so while some stuff may be in canon, other stuff is specifically not and some stuff is just stuff I wasn't aware of. So if you're super hardcore about canon (except in pairings which will be the same, ex Batman/Catwoman, Harley/The Joker) this isn't for you.

Also, I'm a college student double majoring. Updates may not be the most frequent things in the world. I'm also not Majoring in English or creative writing so forgive a few grammar mistakes here and there please? I will happily fix them.

Without farther ado.

20 years ago

Washington DC, FBI headquarters.

Alfred

There was no such thing as a normal workday working with the Wayne family. Even after being with Master Thomas in the military, then being his butler at home, there had never been a dull moment. Master Bruce was a handful no matter where he went, Martha Wayne always caught up in some charity or issue she was supporting, and Thomas running around being a doctor and a businessman together.

But unfortunately, today was a fair deviation from the average days, and not in a good way.

Master Wayne had been at school when the news broke. Master Thomas and Mrs Martha had been on their way to have a picnic in celebration of their anniversary, when their car broke down on the outskirts of town. Everything had gone downhill from there and had not stopped rolling down.

Following that, a video had been sent to FBI headquarters, with both the Waynes on it, along with a ransom demand to the tune of 15 million and the threat that any funny business would result in an orphaned Bruce Wayne.

That had been 12 hours ago.

10 hours ago a time and place for the money to be dropped, all unmarked bills, in small denominations, had been announced in a similar manner. This time with Master Thomas looking significantly more bloody. The Government had instantly complied, seeing how Mr Wayne was not only an important businessman, but was also a significant campaign contributor to more than a few people in DC.

Alfred had not wanted Master Bruce to see that go down.

The boy had been picked up from his private school by agents and Alfred himself and whisked here, into this building with dozens of armed men, a top notch security system and the promises from the head of the FBI himself that no harm would come to Master Bruce. That still didn't mean the young man, who was only 9, had to be in the room where all the video feed and information was coming in.

Alfred, with his extensive background, knew this was no place for a child. Despite the boy's quiet matureness, he was still a child, and had no place being here. The man in charge of the room, Agent David Reed, insisted he not be moved for some reason, claiming if the kidnappers wanted to speak to him he must be instantly available on the phone.

Alfred knew in the back of his mind it was because they were still not sure if he was involved yet, though why it was taking them so long to figure that out he didn't know. Bruce had been quiet albeit a bit fidgety, having finished his homework and begun reading a book, and would have been fine in any other room or even one that blocked his vantage point to the giant screen. But Special Agent Stick-up-his-ass refused to see that.

The room was quiet, several agents had already tried interviewing Bruce, and despite the fact he told them all he knew, he hadn't been able to help them solve anything or even provide a direction to go in. Sure the Waynes had enemies, anyone would when your net worth was that large, but they were not involved in criminal activities, verything was above board, and they were not rich snobs who looked down on poor people. Looking into their past would be futile, Alfred knew how to read between the lines, these man had no information on either Mr or Mrs Wayne and where no closer to solving anything.

All anyone could do was wait.

It didn't take long.

A separate tape had just arrived, this one sent to a news station instead, with instructions that it was to be given to the FBI following its finding. Though it had taken less than thirty minutes to get from said station to the room, that was still precious time that had been lost. Every minute mattered.

"Agent, can I please take Master Bruce to another room?" Alfred inquired, already knowing the answer would be the same as before.

"No. I want him here so if he recognizes anything he can tell us instantly."

Alfred knew it was a battle he wasn't going to win, and silently went over to sit by the boy. No one gave any thought to how it was affecting him, and it drove Alfred mad. All any of these people cared about was using the high profile Wayne case as a feather in their cap for their next promotion or when entering politics. He'd seen the success rates they had, and while high, Alfred's practical English sensibilities told him they were far too arrogant. Some agents were acting like this was already over, and that it would be fine.

There had been similar attacks targeting American elite for the past few months, and every single one of them was returned alive. Even with that fact, Alfred could not help being uneasy. He almost wished he was in England and could become involved in the investigation himself, just to make sure it was done right. Even though the money was being monitored it was far from secure, and would be of no help getting any information on the perpetrators. It was always some low level man sent to go get it who thought he was making just another drug run. After the bag changed hands 5 times, it had become impossible to track where it went.

These people were essentially ghosts, and were far from newbies. Alfred did not have a good feeling about it.

"Will they be okay?" young Bruce asked, quieter than usual. "Agent Reed said they would."

All Alfred could do was say "I hope so" wishing it could be better news. Bruce had already had his far share of problems growing up. Despite being very bright and excelling in academics and sports, emotionally he had obstacles. Bruce was already an introverted child, and very lonely. The nightmares that had kept him afraid of his own shadow didn't help him trust people either. That loneliness fed into social anxiety, which snowballed into avoiding all social interactions, save a few. His only friend his own age was a boy named Tommy, who Alfred privately thought to be less of a friend and more someone who used Bruce to brag about how smart he was.

The screen flickered to life, and both Waynes, tied to a chair and looking significantly more disheveled and hurt than they had last time, appeared on the screen. Alfred took in a sharp breath, something Bruce picked up on and looked at him, nervousness growing on the boys on features. Alfred would have started mentally cursing himself for making him more nervous except a voice on the screen started speaking.

"Washington, Waynes, the whole wide world. This video will prove that the rich are nothing, and just as human as the rest of us. They played the game well though, and paid the biggest ransom so far.

"To bad it isn't quite enough for me. I'm tired of the current experiment and want to conduct a new one. So while I thank both of the Waynes for providing funding to my next experiment, it also requires a few test subjects. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like these two fit the bill.

"What does capitalism, the favorite theory of the elite, say happens when someone can no longer work? When they stop serving the machine of the economy and stop producing? They become a drain on the system, and drains are something I just can't have."

Alfred, not liking where this was going, ordered the boy next to him to shut his eyes, which to Alfred's relief he instantly obeyed.

He needn't have bothered, seeing as the film started to point to the floor after being put down. He'd almost thought it was over until 2 gunshots, a shotgun by the sound of it, went off. Both were following by a noise that Alfred knew happened when the bullets made contact with flesh. If that hadn't been bad enough the camera, still tossed carelessly on the ground, still managed to pick up the crimson liquid in the dark that confirmed everyone's fears.

Then the video stopped.

If Alfred had thought the room was quiet before, it was nothing compared to now. The only sounds he could make out were a slight heaving, which he discovered when turning to his side.

Bruce had his eyes shut tight still, though that didn't stop the tears from running down his face. He'd watched enough movies with his father to know what that noise was. He was biting his lip enough to draw blood, trying to hold in the sobbing Tommy had told him only little kids did. It was all Alfred could do to draw him in close and hug the poor little boy he had known since he was born. there was nothing else he could do to make this better.

His little boy now, Alfred recalled, remembering Thomas solemnly telling him that he had ensured that he was to take care of Bruce until he had grown up should anything happen to him. It wasn't that Bruce didn't have relatives, he did in fact on his mother and father's side. But none of them would look out for Bruce the way Thomas knew Alfred would, and none of them would see Bruce's money as Bruce's instead of their own.

Comforting had never been one of Alfred's strong suits, he wasn't the type of soldier who came in to reassure people that they were saved and that goodness was coming, he was the soldier that paved the way for those men with blood. That was not to say he did not try, stroking the boys hair and just hanging onto him.

It didn't feel real and it didn't feel fair. Alfred understood taking out anger on the rich, but the Waynes were not the rich to take it out on. They were involved with many kinds of philanthropy, focused on giving people good wages, good healthcare and creating jobs and making peoples' live better. Of all the rich to strike at in anger, the Waynes should have been the bottom of the list, yet they were at the top.

It took Alfred a moment to realize some agent was talking to him, something about contacting family to come get Bruce.

"I am in charge of Master Bruce, and always have been in the event something happened. Master Thomas and Mrs Martha were very clear about that, and had outlined multiple times he was not to be put in anyone else's care but my own. I can provide you the numbers of the attorney who oversaw their will."

Will. Attorneys. It had started out such a normal Wednesday morning, yet here they were, in a government building full of snobby bureaucrats whose ego had been forcibly taken down a peg and a young boy who had just lost his entire world as he knew it.

It took the useless bureaucrats several calls to confirm with the attorney that that was indeed the case, proceed to make notifications to other family members, and arrange security for Bruce and Alfred for their hotel stay, and then outfitting the manor should anyone try to come for the remaining Wayne.

Alfred was not surprised, though he was disappointed, when they finally escaped that damn building at 2 in the morning they were mobbed by reporters and news crews outside. Vultures. Alfred kept his hands on his young charge's shoulders, shoulders slumped with grief and exhaustion, and made their way to the car waiting for them along with their security.

Lights kept going off in his face, rendering him momentarily blind in the dark, which unsettled him. Voices kept demanding answers to questions like "Does the FBI have any leads?" "Are the Waynes really dead?" "What happens to their money?" none of which Alfred felt like answering. All that mattered right now was making sure a 9-year-old boy was okay.

His only job at the moment was keeping master Bruce out of their grasp and away from the news media circus. It felt like an age to get to the car, when really it was only a minute, would have been faster if the FBI had used a more efficient way to get them out of the building.

The car inside was dark, cold and uncomfortable. The ride was long, twisted and silent. It took Alfred a while to realize Bruce had finally succumbed to exhaustion, leaning heavy on Alfred. He did not ever look peaceful sleeping, yet now he did not look like he was resting well at all. His face was still damp with tears, a photo of which earned someone a Pulitzer prize, and he was still tense. Alfred pulled off his jacket and laid it over him anyway, and later carried him into the hotel, being careful not to wake him.

Master Bruce would have enough problems when he woke up, being tired did not need to be one of them.

20 years later/Today

Gotham City, Docks, Warehouse 17C

Commissioner Jim Gordon

Tonight had not been the biggest bust in Gotham PD history but it ranked up in the top 10. Drugs, guns, and trafficked people oh my. Every single crime on the books had probably been committed by this organization at some point, even if the DA could only get their crime boss leader, Vito Corleone, on tax evasion.

His people would be here well into the morning hours, cataloging all the weapons found, the money, the drugs and the people who had by luck of the draw avoided slavery, be it sweatshop or prostitution. Some of the would be reunited with families, other would be put back out there, using what limited resources the city of Gotham could provide them to start their life over and get off the streets and away from the life.

"Hey Commish?" a voice less than 2 feet from him yelled. That was Harvey Bullock for you, if he wasn't talking while chomping on a donut or something else that would give him type 2 diabetes, he was yelling like he'd never learned the concept of an inside voice. Despite these flaws, he was a good detective, using the bribes people offered him that turned out to be useless to getting out of charges, to buy stuff for the office, mainly food. Sometimes he lost his temper and beat a few people up, but that was a flaw Gordon had come to accept would always be there, even if he didn't like it.

"Yes Bullock?"

Bullock leaned in, and started to whisper. "I have Martha and Thomas Wayne."

Jim couldn't say he wasn't shocked. It was a popular conspiracy theory that they had been alive after all this time, even though the shots had seemed pretty clear what happened, despite the fact no body and no evidence had been recovered. He'd been going through the Academy at a time, and everyone latched onto the case as what not to do in a hostage situation. The FBI had gotten careless, and it had cost one of Gotham's own dearly.

But it wasn't every day someone showed up out of the blue after being kidnapped and apparently shot to death. There would need to be inquires, dental record checks, DNA checks, and he knew Bruce Wayne would insist on interrogating them himself. The last time someone had impersonated a Wayne it hadn't gone very well.

It was either an almost fairy-tale happy ending for an orphan to get his parents back after all this time, or a really cruel joke that fate was playing on the billionaire. For the sake of Wayne, he hoped it was the former.

"I need a smoke." He muttered and walked off, almost forgetting to give Bullock instructions. "Keep it quiet. Do not under any circumstances call the media. Alert the Wayne estate and the hospital so they can begin records checks and making sure they are alright."

This was a right mess. The case had gone cold almost as quickly as it had started, and he knew there was very little chance the Waynes knew anything, their captor had been through enough to not leave any evidence, he (or she) had to have been careful after all this time. That didn't stop the questions from bubbling up, why were they released now, what game was the man on the video playing, were they even the Waynes?

He'd managed to get not even 5 feet from the building, smoke already in hand when a deep voice behind started speaking, making him almost jump out of his skin. After all this time he never got used to it. The shadow sneaking, the deep voice, the sudden disappearance. Many people thought Jim Gordon's threat of 'nailing his feet to the ground' was a joke. It wasn't.

"It's the Waynes, or someone who says they are them. After all this time, what are the odds they randomly show up here?"

There was an substantially longer pause before the response. "Very small."

Jim Gordon knew the Batman was close with the head of Wayne enterprises, there was only one man in town who hated crime enough to fund someone like Batman, even though the billionaire denied it at every opportunity. He had used to think they were the same person until he had seen them in the same room together. There had gone that theory.

"Someone is playing a game with us Batman, I don't like it."

"I don't like it either." And with that he was gone. Jim had no proof he was gone, having never seen him in the first place, but had been working with the Batman long enough to know.

He pulled a drag off his cigarette, and let it out with sigh. He'd need to call Barbara and tell her he wasn't going to be home by the time she went off to school. Then he'd need to call the Mayor's office. He'd need to make a press conference to give the city a morale boost, and send a clear message to other crooks in Gotham that they were next.

His day wasn't going to end any time soon, and despite having worked 8 hours already, it looked like he was just getting started.

Exciting? Dumb? Terrible? Let me know?