Young Justice Oneshots

Alfred

"How old is Alfred, anyway?" Wally asked one day when the two teenagers were laying on Dick's bed, heads hanging off the side. It was in this position that a majority of their most creative plans were conceived, and for this reason they tended to fall into that position when all methods of occupation had been exhausted.

"His birthday was last month, remember? We gave him three weeks off and Bruce forgot how to work the washing machine," Dick answered with a grin.

Wally laughed, which was quite awkward when one's head was upside down. "That's right! And you had to do all the laundry!"

"And Bruce kept forgetting to come out of the basement to eat, leaving me to make us sandwiches," Dick continued.

"Except there was no food left in the cupboard by the end of Alfred's vacation! You guys had anchovies and caviar for breakfast in the morning!" The two boys were laughing so hard by the end of this exchange that they were forced to sit up on the bed.

"He's sixty seven," Dick said suddenly.

Wally cocked his head. "Who?"

"Alfred."

"What?" Wally yelled. "He is not, no friggin way!"

"Well," Dick explained, "he was 42 when Bruce's parents died, meaning he was 63 when Bruce adopted me, so by now he's 67."

"Dang," Wally said, much more sedately. "So when you're in college he'll be, what? In his mid to late seventies?"

Dick thought for a moment. "Yep."

Wally lay back down on the bed again with his head hanging off it. "Dang. Makes me feel bad about all the pranks."

Dick laughed. "Not so bad that we'll stop, though."

Wally grinned. "Heck no. He's put up with us this long, why stop now?"