Chapter 8: Alfred Pennyworth
The knock came again, soft but firm. Barrett's heart raced, the sound reverberating through the silence of the room. He steadied himself, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Come in."
The door creaked open, revealing a man in his fifties. His appearance was as dignified as Barrett remembered from the memories he had unlocked. The neatly pressed black suit, the silver tray he carried, and the precise way he carried himself all screamed professionalism. Yet, it wasn't the attire that caught Barrett's attention—it was the expression on his face. A mixture of guilt, sorrow, and hesitation etched deep lines into his otherwise composed demeanor.
Alfred Pennyworth. The legendary butler, confidant, and caretaker of the Wayne family. The only person Bruce Wayne—and now Barrett—had ever truly trusted.
Barrett immediately pieced together why Alfred looked so torn. From the memories of his predecessor in this alternate world, he knew Alfred had always blamed himself for what had happened to the Waynes. He had seen it in those fleeting moments of regret in Alfred's eyes in countless DC adaptations. Now, standing face-to-face with the man, it felt much heavier than he had anticipated.
Alfred cleared his throat, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of grief. "Master Barrett," he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He placed the tray with a steaming cup of tea on the nightstand, straightening up with an air of practiced poise.
Barrett's gaze locked onto Alfred's face. Despite the man's efforts to maintain his composure, his red-rimmed eyes betrayed him. Barrett's stomach churned. He already knew the answer to the question that burned in his throat, but he had to ask it.
"How are my parents?" His voice was steady, but the room seemed to hold its breath.
Alfred froze, his gloved hands clasping together. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before speaking, his words measured and deliberate. "Master Barrett, there is no easy way to say this... Your parents... they... they're gone."
Barrett felt a lump rise in his throat. Despite having the memories of this reality, hearing it said aloud struck him like a hammer. He knew this moment would come, but it didn't make it any easier. He let the words hang in the air, the silence deafening.
"How?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.
Alfred's eyes softened, and he took a step closer. "It was a robbery, Master Barrett. A man named Joe Chill accosted them as they were leaving the theater. Your father tried to protect your mother and you, but... things turned for the worse." He paused, his voice faltering for a moment. "I... I wasn't there when they needed me most. I should have been. I failed them."
Barrett's heart clenched. Alfred's guilt was palpable, and it pained him to see the man who had been a pillar of strength so vulnerable. He wanted to comfort Alfred, but he also needed answers. He needed to understand everything.
"Was it just... a random robbery?" Barrett asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Alfred hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. "The police believe so, but..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "There are some... irregularities. Things that don't quite add up. I've been looking into it, Master Barrett, but I haven't found anything conclusive yet."
Barrett's mind raced. He remembered from his memories and knowledge of DC lore that Joe Chill's actions were rarely as simple as they seemed. In most iterations, the robbery was a cover for something much darker.
"Thank you for telling me," Barrett said finally, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside him. "But... I need to know everything, Alfred. If you find anything—anything at all—promise me you'll tell me."
Alfred's gaze met his, and for the first time, Barrett saw a flicker of pride in the older man's eyes. "Of course, Master Barrett. You have my word."
The two stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation pressing down on them. Finally, Barrett broke the silence.
"I want to go home," he said, his voice firm.
Alfred hesitated. "Master Barrett, are you certain? The manor... it's..."
"It's empty," Barrett finished for him. "I know. But it's still my home. And I need to be there."
Alfred nodded slowly. "Very well. I'll make the necessary arrangements. We can leave as soon as you're ready."
Barrett managed a small smile. "Thank you, Alfred. For everything."
The butler inclined his head, his professional demeanor returning. "It's my duty, Master Barrett."
As Alfred turned to leave, Barrett called out to him. "Wait."
Alfred stopped, looking back at him. "Yes, sir?"
Barrett hesitated, then said, "I... I just need some time alone before we leave."
Alfred's expression softened. "Of course, Master Barrett. Take all the time you need."
With that, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Barrett sat back down on the edge of the bed, his mind swirling with thoughts. The reality of his parents' deaths, the implications of Alfred's suspicions, and the weight of his new identity pressed down on him all at once.
He glanced at the window, the Gotham skyline glowing faintly in the evening light. In this moment of solitude, Barrett allowed himself to grieve. Silent tears slid down his cheeks as he thought about his parents, their warmth, their love, and the life they had built for him. He thought about the future, the responsibilities that now rested on his small shoulders, and the challenges he would face.
But amidst the sorrow, a spark of determination ignited within him. Barrett Wayne wasn't just a boy anymore. He was someone with the power to change the course of this world. And he would start by uncovering the truth behind his parents' deaths.
For now, though, he let the silence envelop him, gathering his strength for the journey ahead. The world outside awaited him, and he would face it—not as Bruce Wayne, but as Barrett Wayne.