[Once again Alfred watches this with a sort of clinical detachment and when Oswald's body finally gives up and he passes out Alfred just sighs, the sigh of a man who knows he has a long night ahead of him. Slowly he gets up and goes over, looking down at the pair of them for a moment before kneeling down to pick up Edward's glasses and tucking them into his vest pocket. He then scoops Oswald up and puts him over one of his brawny shoulders, heading out the back to his car.

The drive back to Wayne manor is hard, he knows what's waiting for him there and doesn't want to see it. He doesn't want to see his boy, who was once alive and bright, now laying cold and dead in blood stained sheets. He doesn't want to see those glassy, accusing eyes.

But he will, because he knows what needs to be done.

He brings Oswald into the manor and takes him into his own chambers, laying him down into his bed before going and retrieving the medical kit. In a way it's good that the other man is unconscious, it helps make the process of patching his wounds up faster than if he was alive and causing a fuss. Which is good, because Alfred has work to do.

With Oswald mostly patched up he then trudges up to Bruce's room, his heart feeling heavier and heavier with each step. He does not turn on any lights, he doesn't need to, he knows this house like the back of his hand and in a way turning on a light would make the scene of Bruce's death so much more real.
More brutal.

So he enters, shrouded in darkness, slowly walking across the room and then sitting down next to Bruce's body.]

I'm here, Master Bruce.

[He says softly as he reaches out to close the boy's eyes, his own filling with hot tears.]

I'll take care of everything.
I promise.