The Apprentice

Hard To Breathe

One...

"Good afternoon, it is a pleasure meeting you. My name is Alfred Pennyworth, and I am the butler of Wayne Manor."

Two...

"Master Wayne, I must protest. He is just a child, and shouldn't be drawn into a life of... well, crime fighting!"

Three...

"Happy Birthday, young Master Dick. I sewed you a little something I hope you'll like."

Four...

"I'm glad you're excited, but it's important to stay by Master Bruce's side, and do everything that he says."

Five...

"Going away? Are you sure you're ready?"

Six...

"The house is so quiet now, Master Bruce. It's surprising, I've grown used to his youthful energy filling the halls."

Seven...

"I'm sure there is a good reason for Master Richard to have... um..."

Alfred opens his eyes, his shaky hand reaching for the can of mask removal spray. He hopes that his hands are shaking from the arthritis, and tries to ignore how unsuccessful the seven breaths were. He turns around and his heart leaps out of his chest.

Master Richard is standing a hair's breath away, staring at the spray anxiously. Alfred, for a moment, is at a loss for words. His hand moves on its own, and he slowly hands over the can. Richard takes it.

"Go upstairs." He finally says.

Alfred swallows. Something is definitely wrong. The boy must be going through more than what he had initially imagined. Nonetheless, he cannot comply with such an unexpected and suspicious request.

"Master Dick, I must—"

"Don't—" Richard blurts, pointing at his collar, but is interrupted by his own violent flinch. He opens his mouth and stops before any words could form. He presses his lips together, then opens his mouth again. Alfred watches the boy's internal struggle with shocked silence. Sweat tickles his receding hairline. Wait, was the boy trying to mouth a sentence?

Suddenly, Richard strikes him in the ribs.

Alfred wheezes, his lungs stunned and unable to take in air. He takes a knee and looks up to see his young master's leg milliseconds away from connecting with his jaw. His military instincts kick in before his mind does, and he catches the foot, hitting it with equal force, then puts his entire weight into pushing it away, sending the young master tumbling to the ground. He sucks in a breath, his train of thought finally catching up to him, and he hesitates for a moment as he debates what to do next.

It only takes a moment.

He glances over at Dick's pained expression as the vigilante points a device connected to his wrist straight at Alfred's chest. The boy's whole arm is trembling, disrupting the aim. He's mouthing words again, but Alfred can't make out the meaning.

He reaches to knock the arm away, but doesn't make it in time.

Robin fires. Alfred is struck in the shoulder by a heat ray, the blast searing his flesh and knocking him back. He grits his teeth, somehow preventing a scream from escaping, and feels his shoulder pop and sizzle. Robin's blurred silhouette shrinks as he retreats, but there is no way for Alfred to fight through the pain and stop him. He hears the rev of a small engine, and the screeching of tyres receding into the distance.

The butler groans and gets to his feet, his legs threatening to give out at any moment. He takes slow laboured steps towards the supercomputer, his good arm reaching towards the emergency contact switch. The world tips sideways and he hits the ground, everything going numb.

His eyes roll to the back of his head and his body goes slack.