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Chapter Text

2025

The Wayne Manor is an old piece of property, dating back to when the first family of Gotham had settled back in the seventeen-hundreds.

Its gothic charm and ‘spooky’ feel give it character and an aesthetic the Wayne family had come to appreciate. Not much of its exterior and barely the interior had changed much at all over the many many decades and passing generations of Waynes. Except for the sleeping quarters, the kids had given those their own flair over the years.

Bruce, a man now fifty years old, has gotten used to the house long ago, and its specific feel. 
The odd spots of coldness, bulbs occasionally blinking and maybe a light fixture having a slight sway despite all windows being closed.

Bruce has an answer for them all, as it had been happening since he was a child.

‘The cold is a part of an old house like this, you’ll understand later.’ His mother had said.
‘The wiring is quite old, Master Bruce, it’s normal.’ Alfred had explained.
‘It’s probably just Alfred walking around upstairs.’ His father had soothed.

Now, did Bruce believe in ghosts? Yes. He had to with the night-time job he has, he’d even witnessed some on a sparse amount of missions.

Did Bruce believe ghosts lived in the manor? No, absolutely not. 
Not a single Wayne family member, staff or houseguest had ever died in the home.

That’s why it is so utterly confusing when Bruce wakes up in the middle of the night; one of the few nights he’s not out as the Bat, and sees the figure of a child in the corner of his room.

He knows immediately it is not Dick nor Jason, both are too old and live out of the house, Damian is shorter than the figure as well.

The man blinks a few times to make sure he’s not dreaming or hallucinating, the child (teenager?) remains.

They look thin, but not in a too unhealthy way, but still worrisome. They are wearing a black button up shirt with short sleeves, dark shorts that end at their knees and no shoes nor socks. Their hair is on the shorter side, but it’s hard to make out in the dark, only one very pale arm and leg is illuminated from the moonshine coming in through the window.

“Who are you?” Bruce finally says, deciding to be the one to end the staring contest with the shadow.

There’s silence for a bit, and just when Bruce is about to turn on the light and ask again, the teenager speaks.

“…that is interesting…” the words sound like they’re slightly echoing, it’s not too noticeable unless you're as observant as the vigilante. The voice is definitely male, a teenager’s, and it has an odd edge to it… a rawness like the boy had been crying or screaming, but he still speaks like the pain in his throat is nonexistent.

Bruce sits up a bit more, his intrigue winning over his regularly-prevailing common sense.

“What is?” He asks, trying to make out more of the boy’s features, as his eyes adjust to the dark.

The boy cocks his head, his dark hair is slightly longer on top, so it flops a bit to the side, making Bruce notice blue eyes—there’s an icy coldness to them that makes the man almost shiver.

“…you’ve not noticed me like this before…Martha would be happy at this development…” Bruce feels his back straighten at the mention of his mother, hand flying to the switch of his bedside lamp. “What do you mean my mot—“ as he clicks on the light, the boy disappears, as if he was a part of the dark that was there.

Bruce threw his blanket off, walking to where the boy had just been, but all that is there is a feeling of coldness, the icy cold makes the carpet beneath his feet almost feel wet .

He should probably go to the cave, log the encounter, maybe even contact someone like a John Constantine. But Bruce goes back to his bed, sits on the edge, finally letting himself shiver at the cold. The boy felt… familiar. It was like seeing someone that you know that you know, but having no idea from where. 
Just a feeling of odd familiarity and a lack of the proper name.

Who is The Boy?

Chapter Text

2025

As the week following his night encounter with the boy continues, Bruce can’t shake the feeling of being watched. 
He’s checked all his safety systems, security footage and even read up on the History of Wayne Manor to make absolutely sure no person has ever died in the grounds.

He found nothing.

Bruce would entertain the idea that he was hallucinating from lack of sleep or fatigue, if the feeling of being observed wasn't constantly pricking along his back 
The feeling wasn't malicious from what his gut told him—it felt similar to how his kids back in the day would hide around the corner of a doorway to observe Bruce, as Jason or Dick were still new to the manor and unsure of Bruce still. Damian too, but he was not unsure, the kid just liked to sneak up on people and test Bruce’s reflexes at times.

The man must have turned to look at an empty doorway or hall a dozen times this last week, and it was beginning to wear on him. 
He got a small reprieve on patrol and at work, as the feeling was only there when he was home on the grounds. Curious…

Currently Bruce was in his study, finishing up some late-night paperwork for WE, when he heard Damian yell from his bedroom down the hall.

“Identify yourself, intruder!” Bruce was sprinting down the hall before he even had a chance to think. He slams the door open, probably denting the wall with the door-handle, eyes flitting around his youngest’s room.

Damian is in the middle of the room, wearing his Batman PJs and sporting a sword held between both of his small hands. He’s in a fighting stance, legs braced wide as the tip of the sword is tilted towards the wall beside the door, his son’s face is angry and suddenly it goes confused a second after Bruce had entered.

“He’s…” Damian says, more towards himself than Bruce. His father looks to the wall and there is nothing. The room is empty aside from the two Waynes.

“Damian, what happened?” He finally asks, brows furrowed as he observed Damian let out a breath he’d been holding.

“Someone was in my room, father.” The voice of his son says, both certainty and confusion present in his tone. “A teenage boy, caucasian, dark clothes… blue eyes.” Damian elaborates, the feeling in Bruce’s gut that’s been there the whole week grows at the words.
Bruce steps closer, gently taking the sword from Damian’s hands, before kneeling in front of him. “Did he say anything?”

Damian’s green eyes fill with confusion, why isn’t his father more surprised at the fact someone had made their way into the house.

“Um, he told me that my family should be careful not to fall into the ‘growing dark hole.’ ”  
Bruce looks to the ground for a moment… Damian’s family? Does the boy mean the Waynes or Al Ghuls?

“Damian, what was his exact wording?”

“Father I don’t see how—“

“Damian.”

“He said ‘Beware your dear family’s health, your home will sink into the growing dark hole.’ ” Damian finishes, searching his father’s face for an answer.

Damian’s ties to the Al Ghuls weren’t considered especially dear , and the League of Assassins didn’t have a real home, as they were constantly on the move and roaming between bases. Bruce’s brows knit together just a bit. The pale boy must be talking about the Wayne side of Damian’s family then— but that just creates even more questions.

Beware of our health? We’ll sink into a dark hole? Is it some sort of threat? But if so, who does it sound more like a warning…?

“Father?” Damian questions again, his confusion is growing into light anger as the man keeps quiet. “Father, what do you know of this?”

There doesn't seem to be a reason for withholding his own encounter anymore, he’d probably question Alfred in the morning as well, to see if he’d seen the boy before.

“I saw him as well, about a week ago. He seemed surprised I was able to see him, he even mentioned my mother.” Bruce answers, brushing Damian’s hair out of his eyes, where his bed head had been tousled from the rough wake-up. 
Damian’s eyes widened “Grandmother? But she’s been gone for so long… I know this sounds ridiculous, but do you think he’s—“

“A ghost? Maybe. But the manor records have no logs about anyone ever dying here. The feeling I felt that night he appeared to me is only ever present when I’m on the manor grounds, it’s gone as soon as I leave.” He explains.

Damian looks thoughtful. “Which means, if he’s a ghost, he must have died here, as he appears tied to the manor.” Bruce nods “exactly.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Do you… want to sleep in my bed with me tonight, Damian? If you feel uncomfortable being in here?” Damian wrinkles his nose at the offer. 
“ -tt- I do not fear that skinny spectre… but if you feel discomfort being alone, I suppose I could keep you company.” Damian looks off to the side, a rare and slight feeling of shyness and maybe even embarrassment to his words. 
Bruce feels his heart squeeze a bit at the sight, it was nice to see Damian seek out comfort in Bruce, even if he faked his reasoning a bit to save face.

“I would like that very much, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, father.”

The rest of the night continues on with no other ghostly sightings. Damian had tried to stay up for a bit beside him, but the adrenaline rush had left him, so now the little boy was simply tired. It was cute; would probably be cuter if the ten year old was not cuddled up with his sword in its sheath, but Bruce would take what he could get, regarding Damian’s affections and comfort seeking.

In the morning, Damian left with a quick ’Good morning, father’ before retreating to his room to change, Bruce did the same and made his way downstairs.

Alfred was already in the kitchen, cooking what looked like pancakes and brewing fresh coffee.

“Good morning, Master Bruce. I take it young Master Damian slept in your bed last night? He was not in his room this morning when I went to check.”

“Yeah, it was an odd night. An odd week if I have to be honest, Alfred.” Bruce fills his cup with black coffee and takes a tired sip. Alfred raises a silver eyebrow, quietly prompting the other to continue. 
“Alfred… have you ever noticed anything supernatural about the manor? Like the feeling of being watched? Areas of extreme colds or even a pale teenage boy appearing at night?”

Alfred’s hands still, his grip around the spatula growing very tight and firm before easing up again. Bruce, perceptive as ever, notices immediately. 
“What prompts this inquiry?” Alfred asks, in lieu of answering. The bat holds the other’s gaze for a moment, searching. “Damian and myself have seen the same ‘person’ in the middle of the night this week— what do you know?

The butler takes the last pancake off the pan, settling it on top of the hefty stack, before turning off the heat. 

“There… was a period of time, just a few months into being hired by your parents, where I would occasionally see Miss Wayne up in the middle of the night. I was still used to the war, so I slept quite dreadfully at night; I began on night-time patrols through the manor, trying to settle my mind.” Bruce nods along, just sparing one glance at Damian who has come over to the table too, Alfred serves the child a stack before he continues on.

“It was a few rare nights, but I saw Miss Wayne with a pale teenage boy, skin as white as paper; dirty clothes; bare feet and his eyes… there was this icy coldness to them that made a shiver go up my spine.” Damian swallows his food before speaking “Father, that is the same intruder from last night. But if he knew grandmother, there’s no way he’s a normal child.”

Bruce hums thoughtfully. “Alfred, do you know what he and my mother were doing? Did they speak about something?” Alfred’s face takes on a melancholy edge “Every time, the boy would be crying. Miss Wayne would have her hands up, as if she wanted to hold him, but couldn’t bring herself to do it… I was new to being in their service, as I mentioned, so I didn’t want to overstep and interrupt them; maybe, I thought, maybe it was a homeless child from The Alley that she was providing shelter to, for a night, I wasn't sure. I had only just moved to Gotham from England, so the habits and customs of the late masters were still unknown to me.” The butler finished, his thumb rubbing along the edge of his teacup.

“I only ever saw the boy three times, each meeting almost the same. After the late masters passed, I never saw him again. I had to focus on you, so those three night-time meetings became a faint memory.”

Bruce rubs his hand over his jaw, as he takes in the information. 
“Damian and I were talking about whether he is a sort of ghost, and your encounters seem to prove it more true. But that doesn't explain how there are no records of someone dying on the grounds, especially not a child.” The mystery nags at his mind like a buzzing fly.

Damian softly tugs at abruce’s sleeve, making him look at his son.

“What if he was murdered here? Or someone disposed of his body on the manor grounds? The house is large, and the outside areas larger.” Bruce took in his words, a nauseating feeling in his gut growing at the idea that someone would dispose of a young boy on the grounds of his parents home. That a little boy might have been struck down so early, doomed to cry into night and leave coldness wherever he went.

Bruce finished his bitter coffee, before standing.

“I need to talk to John Constantine.”

Chapter Text

1978

If you were to ask the old soldier, now newly hired twenty-five year old butler, Alfred ‘what do you think of Gotham?’ , he’d say it looks like a (‘and pardon my word use’ he’d add on) ‘a rubbish dump mixed with a shitpit.’

In some ways, he’d seen worse on the battlefield, at least regarding the amount of corpses along the streets. It was hard to believe anyone would willingly live here, but here he was, deciding to willingly live there, or rather Bristol .

Alfred had found he immediately clicked with the Waynes, much to his delight.

Following his father’s death, one Jarvis Pennyworth, Alfred took the mantle of family butler for the Wayne family. It was an honor, and a privilege he accepted with open arms. He’d get used to the town, one could get used to anything, if given the time.

Martha Wayne is a warm and lovely woman, she loves to talk with Alfred as he makes breakfast, sometimes indulging in gossip with a grin on her painted lips.  
His affection for her grew every time Alfred would walk with her in town, when she’d give as much as her wallet carried to the homeless begging on the street, her eyes always became especially sad around homeless children.

Thomas Wayne reminds Alfred a bit of his own father, a bit stoic, but a very present kindness to him as well. He had a passion for donating to orphanages, homeless shelters and doing pro-bono surgeries at the hospital if a patient had no way to pay.

And then there was little three year old Bruce Wayne. The boy was a healthy baby, despite his parents being on the older side when they had him. 
There was a certain curiosity to his eyes all the time. He loved to grab and investigate all things he could get his chubby little fingers on, and delighted in trying new foods and flavors. He’s bonded quickly to Alfred, accepting him into his young life with a bubbly giggle.

All was truly well, and the first couple of months seemed to fly by.

Alfred is by now used to the routine of the Waynes; their weekly schedules— always by his hand, as well as any changes immediately communicated to his person.

Their personal and emotional habits though… are still more vague to him, or rather, hard to grasp completely. ‘I am their butler, not their friend.’ The young man had to remind himself more than once. So when Master Wayne went out of his way to have arguments with the Gotham General Hospital about not helping the poor enough with their health over the house phone, Alfred had to hold his tongue. He is not someone who should share unsolicited advice. 
And when Miss Wayne would grab the dirty hand of a street kid to help them to whatever shelter they’re from, it’s neither his place then to remind her of germs and hidden blades.

The only other thing the previous soldier hadn’t gotten a firm hang on was sleep.

The majority of a week’s nights Alfred could be found walking the halls, surveying like a soldier or a spy. Triple checking door and window locks. Listening through doors to make sure no one is missing, Master Wayne has a distinct snore that’s very audible though the bedroom door.

All nights have been the same, in which they were completely uneventful.

All, until this one. A dark December night, with only a half moon to provide any light.

Alfred is halfway through the main kitchen, when he hears a whisper. 
His hand grabs and firms around the pistol at his belt-side, a familiar rush of adrenaline in his veins.

It’s a quick and quiet walk, then a peek around the corner into the main sitting room.

The whispering is coming from… Miss Wayne? Alfred’s grip loosens, his head peeking a little more forward so he can see better, and as he does he sees her with a young child.

“I wish you’d tell me where you’ve come from, I want to help you.” She pleads softly, hands up between her and the boy as if ready to embrace him.

‘A homeless child?’ Alfred wonders to himself, taking a closer look at the boy.

He’s very pale, his legs and arms are bare from the knees and upper arms— the skin nearly having a white glow from the moon. The clothes upon his body are dirty and dark, and much too thin for the December weather. He is wearing no shoes. 
He has his face in his hands, his breathing looks like he’s sobbing and having difficulty breathing.

A pang of sympathy goes though the man, he does hate to see children upset.

“You’re not alone, you can stay here for as long as you wish, but would it not be more pleasant to leave and go to a better place?” She says next, her eyes look a bit wet and the smile on her face is barely hanging on.

“… I am alone, I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t know who I—“ the boy begins, before promptly stopping himself mid-sentence. His face whips around to glare at the doorway Alfred is looking out from. 
The butler catches icy and wet eyes from barely a second before he ducks back, in a moment of indecision he runs down the hall as silently as possible.

Maybe it would be better to stay in bed for the night.

Alfred decided not to bring it up, and Miss Wayne didn’t seem to know it was him that night.

The voice of the boy had been so permeated with pain that Alfred couldn’t wash his heart of the cold it had left for several days. He had his feelings about people on the street, but anyone who seemed to carry pain like that deserved sympathy. 

That’s his theory too, that the boy is from the street; possibly even from one the more crime-infested areas that were popping up more and more frequently around the ‘Park Row’ area. 
Miss Wayne could have spotted him in the evening, taken him here for a night to prove shelter and then questioned him about his parents. It certainly is within her character, or so he’d think.

Whoever this boy might be, he wasn't there in the morning.

Alfred felt odd about that… the exact feeling was lost to him at the moment. Maybe he’d figure it out at a later date, but for now he has a job to do.

And he continues to do it.

Chapter Text

2025

It is a Friday evening when Bruce returns home, having finally secured the brown pouch he needed from Constantine. He’s been gone for two days, the Brit is harder to find than he liked, nonetheless the deed was done.

He sits by the batcomputer, deep in thought as he shifts the weight of the pouch around in his calloused hand. He wonders if it’ll work, and if it does, what will the next step be…?

“Hey B, finally home?” A warm voice, from the elevator entrance that connects the cave and manor, speaks out. Bruce turns the chair, locking eyes with his oldest son, the man is wearing a small and comfortable smile, then his eyebrows raise as he looks down at the pouch. 
He comes closer to his father, an inquisitive quirk to his dark brow. “Dami said you’d left for a bit, Alfred seemed peeved too.” It’s a question spoken like an observation, a bat specialty. In lieu of answering, Bruce looks to the pouch again before extending it to Dick. 
His son has a second of confusion on his features before he wordlessly accepts. He unwinds the soft blue rope around the opening of the pouch, looking to Bruce for a moment to see if it’s okay to do so before continuing.

It contains two red gems, they’re smooth and have a slight glow. Both are around the size of two small golf-balls.

He looks to Bruce again. "Getting into Gemology? I didn’t peg you as the type.”

Bruce huffs a laugh. “Got them off Constantine. I owe him a favor sometime; he mentioned a big eye in the sky that can disintegrate anything it looks at possibly appearing within the next fifty years— so I guess I’m not off the job hook until I hit a hundred.” This time Dick is the one to laugh, he did not want to owe that magic weirdo any favors— which piqued Dick’s curiosity even more for why Bruce would.

“So, what’re these for, B?” Dick finally asks directly, knotting the pouch shut again and setting a hand on his hip.

“Let’s go up to Alfred and Damian, it’s all a bit of an odd situation.” Bruce brushes him off for the moment, as they both move to the elevator.

“‘Course it’s odd, we don’t normally mess with magic— if ever.” Dick comments, clicking the button that takes them up to Bruce’s study. Bruce just grunt in a vague sense of acknowledgement.

Downstairs, Damian and Alfred are both already in the main sitting room, Bruce had texted them earlier, saying he’d be home soon. 
Damian is on the couch, sketching what looks like Titus sleeping on his dog bed. Alfred is dusting one of the bookshelves.

“I see Master Dick managed to find you.” Alfred says, if he’s still annoyed at Bruce for leaving out of nowhere he doesn’t let it show in his tone. Damian on the other hand places his sketchbook to the side, before standing up and walking the few short steps to a Bruce and Dick. “Father, were you able to procure the item?” He asks, curiosity in his voice clear as his green eyes move to look at Bruce’s hands.

Bruce tilts his head to the side, gesturing to Dick who holds out the pouch like a bag of candy on Halloween. Just as Damian is about to grab it, Dick raises his hand with a mischievous smile “Nuh-uh-uh little brother, where are your manners?”

Damian’s features grow angry, and he’s two seconds from kicking Dick in his shin before he remembers father is right there . He huffs an irritated breath, clenching his fists shut by his side in embarrassment “Please, Richard, may I have the bag?”

His older brother's smile turns more genuine and soft, before he ruffles Damian’s hair softly and hands him the magic gems. 
Damian snatches the pouch and turns around quickly, trying to hide his warm face; an open display of affection was still unfamiliar to him, but the kid was slowly getting more used to it.

He laces the bag open before looking inside, his eyes grow wide before he turns the bag to Alfred who had come over. “You believe these will work, Master Bruce?” Alfred inquiries, his white brows show a slight furrow.

“Ok-ok, what is all of this?” Dick cuts in, looking from face to face to gauge an answer.

“We believe the manor is haunted.” Damian says, before extending the gems back towards the other “Constantine has told father these will help the ghost appear more frequently, yes?” He finishes his explanation, eyes going to Bruce again for extra confirmation. The child hadn’t been there when the exchange went down after all, which had irritated him, but Bruce insisted since it happened during the schooldays.

“Correct,” Bruce confirms, “all three of us have seen a ghostly teenage boy appearing at night, disappearing instantly and even warning us of possible harm that might come to us, but we need to know more… and if this child is somehow in pain, maybe help too.” There’s a slight pain to the last part, as he remembers how Damian had suggested the murder of the boy.

“A ghost? Really?” Dick says, disbelief clear in his words. He looks to the butler, who’s eyes had turned downcast too at the possible pedicide. “It is true, Master Dick. I saw the boy three times when the later masters were still with us, this boy is not a normal child.”

Dick’s eyes flick between Bruce and Alfred a few times. “No chance of metas?” Bruce shakes his head “I’ve done all the tests and more.”

“Are you not a believer of the supernatural forces, Richard?” Damian pipes up. Dick tilts his head side to side in a not-sure manner, lips quirked to the side. “I wouldn’t say ‘non-believer’ more so just confused, but I’m more so intrigued.” Damian hums in response.

“But if there’s really a ghost here, who not just ask Constantine to, I don't know, exorcise it? Or whatever it is he does.” Dick presses on. 
Bruce rubs his own jaw, remembering Constantine's explanation. “According to him, exorcising spirits like these, child spirits— that is, is extremely painful for the kid. Often it just destroys them completely, denying them any sort of heaven or hell or what else would have come next.”

A sadness appears in Dick’s eyes at the words, as he imagines this child he’s never even seen being denied proper peace just for existing at the wrong place.

“Master Bruce, how do these gems work exactly? Are they active already?” Alfred asks, trying to cut the tension, his grey eyes looking a bit skeptical at the pouch in Damian’s hands.

Bruce shakes his head, his hand going to the inner pocket of his jacket. He fishes out what look like a pack of cigarettes, they look a bit old by the yellowed cardboard and slightly crumpled outside. He flicks it over, showing the backside of the box which has red text on, it in what looks like sharpie. “He told me to say these words when I got to the ‘haunted location’ and whenever I decide I want to return the gems I need to smoke one of those, apparently it sends a magic signal to him… god I hate magic.” He sighs deeply. “One gem (according to him) invokes a sort of power-boost to the spirits of the past, the other for the present.”

His oldest son hums. “You want to do it now? Or did you have some sort of specific day planned?” Dick asks, trying not to sigh at the magic jumbo-jumbo.

Bruce looks to Alfred and Damian who both nod.

“Was it this coming week you were staying here?” Bruce wonders aloud to Dick, even though they both know he is. “Yeah? Some of the guys are holding down Blüd while I finally take a well deserved week off. Why?” 
Bruce rubs the side of the cigarette pack with his thumb. “Well, if the boy keeps showing up only at night, now with possibly more frequency, you might not get the sleep you want.” Dick smiles at that before rolling his eyes, “As if lack of sleep has ever bothered me, just read from your little magic cigarette box already.”

There’s a moment of silence before Bruce just courtly nods his head.

He looks at the pack again, flipping it on the correct side before he begins to read aloud.

“Lives of the past. Lives of the present. 
With these gems you reawaken. 
I call to those who met the grave. 
A council we ask, the truth we crave.”

Chapter Text

2025

Bruce and Damian are getting fitted for patrol in the cave, Dick off to the side as he finishes chatting with Barbara over the comms for a moment.

“Are you staying in the cave while we’re gone?” Bruce inquires, fitting his cowl over his head. Dick bid a goodbye to the woman, before turning around. 
“Yeah, I just want a week of mostly no stress. The ghost thing might be a bit of a curveball, but I can deal.” He answers, looking at the pouch with the two gems at the batcomputer. Other than the red glow getting stronger nothing else had happened yet, maybe Constantine was just taking the piss, it wouldn’t surprise him.

Bruce hummed in response, gesturing for Damian to follow him to the batmobile.

“If patrol goes according to plan tonight we’ll be home around two.” Dick waves them away, after flashing a thumbs up.

The rumble of the car is loud against the cave walls, then they’re both gone.

Dick checks his phone, it’s just a bit past eight.

What to do? What to do? 

Dick’s face grows a smirk after a moment. He missed Alfred’s brownies,it was a bit late for baking, but maybe if he really turned on the charm the older man would cave. The vigilante exited the cave with a pep in his step.

He never noticed the pale face watching him from the edge of one of the dark cave walls.

——

“Now, Master Dick, you must remember to fold the mix.” Alfred explained, showing the motion with his right hand. 
Dick copied it. He and everyone else (minus Jason) were terrible at cooking, so Alfred had resigned himself to take whatever chance he could to attempt and rectify it.

Alfred smiled, “Well done.” He praises. Dick feels his own face grow a big smile; quality time with Alfred had always been dear to his heart, ever since he became a part of the family at the age of ten. “Now, we just need to grease the—“

“What are you making?” A cold and echoey voice interrupts Alfred.

Both the men’s faces shoot up, blue and grey eyes trained on the pale boy. He’s watching them intently. It’s odd, seeing him under the overhead lights, but the warm glow of them does nothing to his white and ghostly complexion. 
His clothes are as worn and dirty as he’s seen all those decades ago, and his blue eyes are no less icy cold.

Dick’s hand shoots down to his pocket to get his phone and alert Bruce, but a thin yet strong hand stops him; Alfred.

“Hello, young child. We are baking a cake, brownies to be exact.” Alfred answers, measured and controlled, but with a very purposeful edge of comfort laced in. It reminds Dick of how Alfred had talked to him when he’d arrived; orphaned and scared.

The boy tilts his head, his coal black hair flopping a bit to the side with the motion.

“So you do see me.” There’s a calculating look to his face. “When the Lord of the House first arrived with those gems, I was skeptical.”  

‘Lord of the House, huh?’ Dick thought, definitely Bruce. The way the boy spoke was a bit odd, in a way it reminded him of Damian’s old fashioned vocabulary.

Dick decided to let Alfred take the lead, since he had actually seen him before. For now, he’d observe.

“It’s good to see you again, do you remember me?” Alfred stepped a bit closer to the child, who didn’t seem to mind. 
The boy laced his hands in front of his belly, it didn’t seem like a shy action, it felt like something close to it though.

“I never left, Mister Pennyworth.” He replied courtly, his icy eyes flicked down for a moment then up to meet Alfred’s again once more. Alfred repressed a sad sigh.

“How do you feel then, lad?”

There’s a little twitch the boy’s lips do at the question, Dick notices his lips are blue in a way that reminds him of hypothermia. “I do not.” He says courtly.

“Pardon?” The butler takes another step closer,

“I’m dead, Mister Pennyworth. There’s nothing to feel.” Dick feels his stomach squirm at the resignation and finality in the child’s words, he wished he could help… but according to Bruce and the others, helping the child was already what they had as their mission as well.

Alfred didn’t seem to believe him, but held his tongue. Instead he switched subjects, looking over his shoulder to gesture at Dick then. “If you're familiar with me, do you know Master Dick as well?” It seemed like Alfred was testing the boy’s memory, but why?

Icy cold eyes flicked to Dick then, the young man flashed as relaxed of a smile as he could manage.

“He was the first child to come here. I observed him that first night— he had to share a bed with the Lord due to nightmares.” Dick tried not to feel too uncomfortable at apparently having been watched by a creepy ghost kid during one of the worst periods of his life. It looked like the boy wanted to say something more, but refrained.

“It’s uh,” Dick began awkwardly instead, “It’s nice to officially meet you, then.”

The boy bows his head in a sort of polite greeting and show of respect, reminding Dick even more of old-timey people.

“And I, you. If I may— I was quite enthralled with your work as The Boy Wonder ‘Robin’.” There’s a little smile on his young face, the first real show of emotion Dick had seen so far. Alfred’s eyes grew at the expression, as well as the confession he knew about the vigilante stuff part of their family too, but he supposed it shouldn’t be a surprise, the cave was a part of the manor too.

Nonetheless, Dick asked. “You know of my Robin work?” The boy nodded again, the very slightly excited expression on his face grew, it reminded him of the kids that would occasionally cheer and whoop when they saw him jump from rooftop to rooftop. It was cute, it made the boy look more his age, whatever that age might be.

“Jeez, you know so much about me, but we don’t know you at all—say, what’s your name?” It was an easy question, a basic ‘icebreaker’ he’d even say, but the boy didn’t seem to think so.

His soft and smiley face immediately grew panicked and even scared. Icy eyes growing large and his teeth biting down on his cyanotic lower lip. He wrapped his hands around himself, making himself seem even smaller.

“I—I don’t… I-“ he stammers out, his eyes clenched shut very tight before he disappears. Like a reflection in water getting misshapen and rippled from a stone thrown in, and he’s gone.

Dick turns to Alfred. “I… I didn't know he'd disappear like that, was that wrong to ask?” Alfred sighs, he didn't look too surprised at the sudden disappearance. 
“One of the times I saw him speaking to Miss Wayne, he’d been panicked too— I think due to his name or identity as well, but it’s been so long I might be wrong.” He placed an aged hand on Dick’s elbow in comfort. “You didn’t know, Master Dick. Don’t feel too bad, at least we know the gems seem to be working. I’m sure the child will return when he has recovered.”

“Alright.” He replied, the feeling of his gut didn’t disappear, even when Damian and Bruce returned home later that night.