Ficlet: (Un)Prepared | DCU | Alfred, Jason, Tim | PG | 1/1 (original) (raw)

Title: (Un)Prepared
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, past Jason/Tim
Rating: PG
Word Count: 935
Prompt: For dcu_freeforall: Silver
Summary: A commotion in the hallway interrupts preparations for the charity gala.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Twenty-sixth in the (Un)Familiar-verse; follows (Un)Connected. It only took me six months to get back to this, but I'm gonna be rolling these out a lot faster now!

(Un)Prepared

In the midst of coordinating the preparations for the charity gala, Alfred has to admit that this is the sort of chaos that he lives for—well, lived for, but that’s beside the point. There’s a menu to complete, groceries to purchase, a ballroom to decorate, serving dishes to set out, musicians and proper serving staff to hire, a hundred small things that are absolutely vital to the functioning of this event.

He counts it as somewhat of a godsend that he has an entire household to call upon for assistance, even if the responsibility for all these preparations rests squarely on his shoulders, and it’s been quite the surprise at how quickly they all volunteered to help.

It all seems to be moving along swimmingly, too, each tending to their assigned tasks, the baking underway, until a sudden crash comes from the service hall adjacent to the ballroom at the south end of the Manor.

A sigh, and Alfred pops from the kitchen—leaving his baking unattended, much to his chagrin—to the service hall, finding a sight that makes his left eyebrow twitch in horror. An entire tray of fine silver is scattered across the hallway, some sort of smoke rising from several pieces, hissing and reeking of burning flesh, and both Masters Jason and Timothy are standing in the midst of the mess, wide-eyed and looking far too young, their hands—

“Good heavens, what happened?” he asks, sweeping forward with a kitchen towel to wrap around Master Jason’s bloodied, burning hands, the skin bubbling with blisters and cracking, weeping fluid. He plucks another towel from the ether, and assists Master Timothy in turn before either of them seem capable of speech.

“It … it burned,” the younger boy whispers, still wide-eyed and starting to shiver now. “The silver.”

Alfred clucks his tongue, shaking his head as he places a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I should have known,” he admits out loud. “My sincerest apologies, Master Timothy, Master Jason. Had I realized, I would have assigned Miss Stephanie and Miss Cassandra to the serving utensils.”

The boys both nod, Jason finally finding his voice, “It’s okay. I should’ve figured, too.” He swipes a shirt sleeve across his forehead, pushing his hair out of his eyes—the pair gone lupine yellow—and blinking hard.

It makes Alfred’s chest ache to see the boys this distraught, and from only handling the Wayne family’s heirloom silverware. No child should have to burn from the mere touch of a precious metal; it isn’t right.

Indeed, none of this is right, that these children should have their lives turned so upside down by the Curses that have been bestowed upon them, that they should be injured and bewitched and forced to spend so much time at each other’s throats simply because their very natures demand it, that—

But the blood that has been spilled in this hall is not the result of a violent incident. Many months have passed since these two were at odds, many weeks since the plant woman’s curse bound them together only for them to be ripped asunder, both of them suffering terribly at the loss. This was simply a mistake. Nothing to be done about it.

Straightening, Alfred nods to the boys. “You both need to eat. Go have Master Richard tend to your injuries, refresh yourselves, and I will have something prepared for you when you return: a fresh bag of O-negative for Master Timothy, and a rare steak for Master Jason. And when you are both up to it, you can begin decorating the ballroom; we’ll leave the silver to the ladies, shall we?” he finishes with a small smile.

The two of them nod in return, the shock finally beginning to fade from their faces, and Master Timothy returns a faint laugh. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Master Jason echoes, his eyes returning to their usual blue and a mild blush blooming on his cheeks.

Alfred offers a reassuring pat to Master Jason’s shoulder, and when Master Timothy heads off down the hallway, the older boy hangs back. “Um, Alfred?” he asks, still blushing.

“Yes?”

Master Jason appears to mull over his words for a moment, then asks, “Why did it burn us both? I mean, I’m a wolf and he’s a vamp, so….”

Oh dear. Alfred had not even considered that this might seem like such a strange coincidence to his young charges. “My dear boy, did you not know of your shared ancestry?”

The young man’s face goes blank with incomprehension. “Um. Huh?”

Alfred smiles softly. “The Curse of Vampirism is a close relative of the Curse of the Wolf. It is said that they were both the work of the same ancient witch, who, it seems, had an affinity for silver.”

Master Jason’s eyebrows rise as understanding seems to dawn on him. “Oh. That … that makes sense. Thanks.”

“You’re quite welcome, my dear. Off you go, then,” Alfred says, sending his poor young charge off to be taken care of, and when Jason has disappeared down the hall, he shakes his head, eying the mess around him. It could be so much worse, he reasons. It could be gore and rage and torn carpet and death, a major upheaval that could very well have destroyed this growing family, making a charity gala completely unnecessary.

But it isn’t.

It was only an accident, easily enough cleaned, tended to, and understood. And indeed, a valuable lesson has been learned. Everyone will be fine, and preparations for the gala will go on as planned, chaos and all.

~*~*~*~