A/N: And then there was the ninth chapter.

So… I decided! Let's hope it wasn't awful!

Echoes 01: That's nice of you to say, and I really appreciate hearing that. Thanks for understanding! I swear, you're so nice it's great to know that politeness isn't dead. I'll be getting that out after the next chapter for "I Can Break Too". It'll be called "Wasn't The Red Button".

Jenniferg7: Oh it most definitely has been awhile, huh? Sorry that was all I could update with—here's hoping you guys like this chappie I cooked up!

spoileralertitsme: First off, thank-you so much for the kind words! We'll see if B takes lil' ol' Timmy and tall-ass Jay in, and when he does if he does, hm? ;) Haha, I'm glad you're enjoying it, and hope you'll leave more reviews in the future! (By the way, your username is so great. Dunno if you meant it to be like this, but references to Steph! Spoiler alert! Oh man, I really love your username)

Okay. Now. The chapter!

Enjoy and please Review! (Please tell me how I did—I'm begging you o-o'')

Elsa's Boyfriend and Santa's Elf

"Fill your life with experiences, not things. Have stories to tell, not stuff to show."

—Unknown

Alfred Pennyworth has been working for the Waynes for countless—at this point—years, and he's loved the absurdity of what the boy he raised has become and done. Alfred can still remember holding young Master Bruce after an especially bad night terror and paying the tears staining his sleep wear no attention. When his boy decided he wanted to dress up as a Bat—one of the things he'd feared most—Alfred had been surprised and a bit confused. If Master Bruce—and goodness was it hard to call the man he raised "Master"—so feared the creature, why would he want to dress like he is one? Then to hear Master Bruce say he wanted the suit to be Kevlar-woven so he could go out and fight crime, Alfred was sure he'd get a heart-attack and die with Master Bruce's shenanigans. Gradually, the old man came to understand that the way Master Bruce feared Bats, was the way he wished to instill that fear into the scum of Gotham's streets.

When the boy he raised allowed and trained another trauma-kissed child to fight crime with him, Alfred could have sworn he nearly fainted and died. But, alas, here he still stands. Years later and that same trauma-kissed boy who'd worked with Master Bruce in his conquest to rid Gotham of crime had grown into his own man with a new moniker. The moniker of Nightwing. Not much surprises the old butler anymore.

However, when Master Bruce—his grown charge—re-entered the Batcave with a bundle in his arms—too large to be a small child thank the heavens above—Alfred will admit, he was more than a smidge confused.

As he approached the man dressed like an over-grown bat Alfred spoke. "I trust all went well?" He didn't address Master Bruce appropriately because he wasn't sure of the bundle in the man's arms. As he neared further, Alfred could make out the form of the figu—the teen, Master Bruce was supporting.

"It had been," was Master Bruce's gruff response. "Nightwing found these two under circumstances I am not aware of, and requested we bring them to the 'Cave. This one seems to have a highly-developed level of hypothermia, and the second I'm unsure of." That, was as close as the Batman would be heard pleading, in his own way, "Help me out here, I have no idea what to do with this" as Alfred would ever expect to hear.

"Second one, Sir?"

As he spoke, his technical grandson parked beside Master Bruce with the loud protesting 'screeech!' of his tires, and the surprised—yet joyful—squealing of a child (not to mention Master Richard's own laughter. Never grow, Master Richard*, never grow).

When his gaze befell upon the child seated in front of Master Richard, understanding became apparent. "Ah. I see."

Turning, Alfred was quick to order Master Bruce to take the teenager in his arms to the Med-Bay—which, really, he's disappointed he had to actually say—and follow briskly after, rolling up his sleeves as they went.

Behind, Alfred heard a young voice shout, "Hey, wait!"

Just before he could pause and turn, he heard Master Richard begin to calm the young boy in his care. "Don't worry, it's okay."

"But where're they goin' with Jay?"

"Agent-A is just going to help your brother as best he can—don't worry your mop-haired head over it Bluebird." Alfred could not help but smile at the nickname Master Richard assigned the young boy. So much like him it was for the nickname to be related to the birds he so nearly flies like. "Hey! I've got an idea: want to go check out B's T-rex?"

"Batman has a T-re—NO WAY!"

As they entered the Med-Bay fully, Alfred pulled on latex gloves, though he doubted he'd need them very much. Master Bruce was settling the teen in one of the beds gently; caringly, dare he say. "His lips are blue and his skin is nearly sheet-white. His body shudders every ten seconds or so."

So Master Bruce was going to stay in Batman mode for the time being, then. Alfred is okay with that for now. "Understood, Sir. If you would fetch the electric blankets for the boy, it would be much appreciated."

Without another word, Master Bruce exited the Med-Bay to locate the requested items—which were actually in the locker rooms—and Alfred found himself alone with a boy he's never met before.

The teenager's dark hair was slightly matted with blood and, turning the boy's head to the left for a better angle, Alfred could see that sometime during the trip to the Batcave, the boy had pulled two or three stitches in the back of his head.

Grabbing gauze and wetting a cloth, Alfred began to clean the wound, and was unsurprised when more blood began to flow from the cut when the dried blood was cleaned away. Pressing the cloth against the wound, Alfred felt a sympathetic pang hit him when the boy whimpered at the pain. The boy couldn't be older that fifteen, with dark jet-black colored hair, light tanned skin, and the scars of someone who's lived years longer than he has. It was a sad thing to witness, because Alfred is sure the boy has seen and experienced things no child his age should. Alas, there is nothing Alfred can do about the past. All he can do is hope for a better future.

Master Bruce arrived just as Alfred was finishing off with re-stitching the wound. It alarmed the old butler that he hadn't needed to use any sort of pain-relieving medication for the teenager at all during the procedure.

Gesturing for Master Bruce to lift the boy's head gently, Alfred securely wrapped bandages around the teen's head to protect the wound. After finishing with the bandaging, Alfred plugged the blankets in and swathed the shivering teen in them. The boy had been so cold, his teeth were chattering. The dampness of the Batcave surely wasn't helping any, and Alfred double-checked the positioning of the blankets after placing them.

"They're orphans."

Ah. More tragedy-kissed children, then. Master Bruce seems drawn to the kind like a newly-hatched turtle to the moon. "Would you like to take them in, Sir?"

Master Bruce stared down at the warming teen in the bed. "I don't know them too well. Nightwing seems extremely attached, however."

Alfred hummed to himself and made sure to throw the blood-stained gloves in the waste basket before collecting his supplies to replace—after sanitizing them, of course—as he answered. "And would you prefer for him to take them in instead?"

"No."

"The dilemma, in that case, sir?"

Master Bruce sighed deeply and quieted as Alfred went and cleaned the tools. Eventually, he spoke up again. "Their names are Jason Peter Todd, and Timothy Jackson Todd."

In order for Master Bruce to know the names of the young boys, that would imply either a good thing, or a bad one. "Are they?"

Master Bruce nodded once. "When Nightwing came to me about two boys he'd met, I decided to research them. He had some blood samples handy, though how they were obtained was… unfortunate. Jason's got quite the rap sheet on him, however Timothy's is as clean as a five-year-old's."

Alfred is beginning to put the pieces together. So this was the boy he'd heard about. "And their living arrangements?" Alfred wasn't concerned with the fact that the boy had committed a few crimes, because odds were that the crimes had been small things, and had no doubt been for money, if the two truly were orphans.

Master Bruce shook his head. "I'm not sure. Nightwing would be able to tell you if you do ask, I'm sure."

Alfred nodded. "Understood, Sir. After I check the child—"

"Timothy."

"—very well; Master Timothy, I shall prepare their rooms."

Master Bruce looked up, alarm evident on his face despite the cowl, as Alfred began to leave the Med-Bay. "Wait, Alfred—"

"Nonsense Master Bruce. We both know you will not deny these boys your son has already bonded with a warm home and actual meals. Now, Master Jason will not be heating up much without any body heat being produced for the blankets to retain, so I will send Master Richard or Master Timothy to accompany him."

Alfred exited the Med-Bay to find Masters Timothy and Richard. He made his way over to where Master Bruce had put the large, mechanical, Tyrannosaurus Rex beside the large penny and Joker card. As he neared the spot, he heard Master Richard telling tales about the stunts he'd pull on the T-rex whenever he thought he'd get away with it, only for Alfred to catch him every time.

Smiling, Alfred continued on his way until he was watching as Master Richard gestured with his hands as he spoke, and Master Timothy seemed ensnared by the story. When he caught sight of Alfred, Master Richard's grin widened.

"And there he is again! Hey Agent-A!" Master Richard waved grandly before embracing his grandfather-figure in a warm hug.

"Sir," Alfred greeted with a small, kind smile. Looking to Master Timothy after Master Richard released him, Alfred offered the boy a gentle smile. "Good evening, Master Timothy." Timothy looks around the age of nine, with features that matched his older brother's. His hair is the same shade of jet-black, and his skin, only a slightly lighter shade than Master Jason's. Though, one difference Alfred could identify was, Timothy was thinner and less muscular than his older brother, who seemed to keep a lean muscular build. Odd.

Master Timothy's eyes widened comically. "'Master'?"

Master Richard himself was looking to Alfred with surprise.

Alfred nodded. Master Richard laughed. "No way! Really? How'd you get B-man to agree?"

In response, Alfred raised a brow at his grandson. "I raised the man; I'd be surprised if I wasn't able to persuade my ward to take in two children who need someone to care for them."

Master Timothy looked down at his shoes and played with his hands behind his back. "We don' need nobody to take care'a us," he murmured. "Jay does it jus' fine. We got the things we need."

Alfred looked to Master Timothy again softly. "I'm sure, Master Timothy. The arrangements would not be permanent unless you wish them so, I assure you. It will last until Master Jason can walk normally again, and the stitches are ready to be removed. Is that all right with you, Master Timothy?"

The boy pursed his lips as he thought. Master Richard seemed to deflate a bit when Alfred had said the arrangements would be temporary, but his joy was still perceptible.

Master Timothy looked up at Alfred through his long bangs. "S'just Tim, and I guess so. S'long as we get t'leave when Jay's okay."

Alfred nodded. "Of course, Master Timothy." He'd chosen to ignore the first half of the statement.

Master Timothy looked ready to protest the title, but Master Richard intervened. "Good luck getting Al to drop the formalities—I've been doing it since I showed up, and he still won't stop."

The old butler nearly rolled his eyes. Nearly. "If you would come with me, Masters Timothy and Richard. I need to do a routine check-up, then you may do as you please as you wait for Master Jason to wake."

Both boys nodded, and Alfred turned to lead the way back to the Med-Bay. He heard the boys talking behind him about Master Richard's experiences as Robin, and when the older boy began recounting the feeling of being in the air as much as he was, Alfred couldn't help but smile.

Approximately forty minutes later, Alfred smiled softly as Master Richard fell asleep curled up with Masters Timothy and Jason under the blankets.

As he exited the Med-Bay, Alfred smiled at the camera in his hand. The screen displayed the photo of Masters Richard, Jason, and Timothy asleep against one-another (Masters Richard and Bruce are still in their uniforms to Alfred's mild disappointment), and Master Bruce asleep in an armchair beside the bed with his fist propped up to hold his head.

Putting the camera in his pocket, Alfred ascended the stairs to the Manor to prepare the rooms Masters Jason and Timothy would need. Though the two boys would need to adjust at first, Alfred was happy knowing they'd be off of the streets for a good four to five weeks.

(Or however long he could help it.)

*I feel like Alfred would stick to the formality of Richard, instead of the informality of Dick. Just my opinion.