RP With Oswald Cobblepot

[flippin_peachy]

It's always amusing, in a dark ironic sort of way, how easily a simple plan can turn to absolute shit.

The plan had been to take a day trip up to Oswald's manor and find a few items that might help improve Oswald's mood as well as give him some motivation as Alfred was finding it harder and harder to get him out of bed these days. He still did it, sometimes literally hauling the smaller man out so he could stretch and strengthen his leg but it was taxing and he didn't like how set Oswald seemed to be on wallowing deeper into his despair. But if he could bring him a few items or even better, repair some of the damage and move him back to his actual home, then maybe Oswald would take some steps towards life again.

So after making sure his new Master was set up for the day, which meant leaving a tray of breakfast by the door and a note explaining his absence, Alfred makes the slow trek to the Van Dahl manor. Most of the roads are still bad, damaged by explosions and gang wars, but gradually the city is piecing itself back together and he is pleased to find he reaches his destination just before noon. He is also pleased to see that the outside of the Manor isn't too bad, many of the windows on the lower level are broken but the upper stories seem intact and it isn't falling down around itself so he moves inside to take a further look, already feeling hopeful.

That hope dies however when he enters Oswald's main study and finds himself face to face with group of looters.

There are five of them and while it's obvious that a great deal of things from the manor were taken long ago when Gotham first went dark it somehow greatly offends Alfred to see that these men are trying to pick the place to the bone. They are taking things that are close to useless, things that hold no meaning except for the man who lived here and when Alfred sees that one of them is not just stealing but wearing a gold silken bedroom cap he becomes enraged.

"I would highly suggest," He says as he pulls his pistol and trains it on the group, "You all put those down and get out of here."

The men seemed surprised that he is not only making such a demand but seems intent on backing it up and one of them laughs, pulling out a large hunting knife.

"Yeah? And you gonna make us, Grandpa?"

Alfred's shot rings out like a crack of thunder, the bullet hitting the spot right in front of the man's feet.

"Indeed I will."

The knife holder suddenly looks doubtful, as do his friends and just when Alfred thinks his simple plan might work out after all he is struck upside the head with a metal pipe and falls unconscious to the floor.

Comments

[hobblepot]

[They wrestle like animals, Oswald snapping out his fist through the red, sticky fingers clawing at him and clipping Rob's jaw. Blood sprays from Rob's gasping mouth. A dying man with a hole in his throat shouldn’t have half the fight this one does. But nothing’s more dangerous than someone with nothing to lose — except Lee, with her double-barreled shotgun. She kicks the man aside, giving Oswald the chance to scurry out from under him before the shotgun goes off. The blast punches wet, ragged holes through Rob’s chest. He flops over, dead for good.

Oswald can barely hear Lee over the ringing in his ears, and the alarms still shrilling in his brain. He blinks at her, breathless, his heart racing. He aches all over; a few more bruises added to the collection, no doubt. Each a humbling reminder of how helpless he still is without his crutch and a gun.

Scraping his Colt off the floor and stuffing it into his pocket, he clasps her hand, wincing as he forces himself to his feet.]

...where's Alfred? [He rasps, waving off any concern.] Go, I will catch up!

[flippin_peachy]

[Kind hearted doctor that she is, she wants to wait and help him but her concern about Alfred is greater and without any argument she nods and heads off, shifting the shotgun to point at the ground as she sprints up the stairs two at a time. Unlike Oswald and Alfred she has no injuries and in comparison she moves gracefully and quickly.

Not so quickly though that she doesn't feel like she is just a second too late to help stop Alfred from doing something he might regret, she hears a strangled howl coming from one the upstairs bedrooms and a second later a half dressed woman comes pelting down the hall. She looks scared and doesn't even slow when she sees Lee, just runs down the steps at a dead run and out the front door.

Another howl comes from the bedroom to the left and Lee pulls the shotgun up, ready to shoot if she sees Alfred is in trouble. When she enters though the gun sags and she almost drops it.]

Oh....god.

[It's obvious from the crumpled sheets and discarded clothes that this was the room they heard the sex noises coming from but that lust is long gone, replaced by one of the other seven deadly sins.
Wrath.

Alfred has dragged the other half of the lovemakers, the man who had been demanding Alfred come clean up his mess, into the middle of the room and is currently beating his skull in with the fire poker. He is dead but that doesn't stop Alfred from making sure, bringing the poker down again and again until there is literally nothing left but a red smear against the hardwood floors The brutality of it makes Lee feel faint and she opens her mouth to speak, to say something but finds she can only gag quietly.]

Clean up your own mess.

[Alfred's voice is like hearing a stone drop into dark, murky water and Lee grabs onto the door frame to steady herself.]

Alfred.

[Finally she is able to speak but he ignores her, plodding around the room as if he is hunting for something.]

Alfred. Please, you need to go home.

[She tries but he isn't listening and just when she is getting ready to grab his arm and force him back out of the room he stops, his face changing. Some of the cold calculation leaving it and being replaced by what she knows him to be.
Kind, thoughtful, loyal.]

Miss Thompkins, I wonder if you would be so kind as to put that golden cap in your pocket.

[His voice is a soft rumble and she comes over to join him, looking down at the sleeping cap that he's found in a bedside drawer.]

I don't want to get it dirty.
My hands...

[He says and looks down at his blood stained hands as if it is the first time he is seeing them.]

Of course.

[She murmurs, interrupting his lost thoughts and grabbing the cap and stuffing it into her pocket with one hand and grabbing his shoulder with the other.]

C'mon, let's get out of here.

rated B for Business as Usual in Gotham

[hobblepot]

[The air in the mansion is charged, like a storm is about to break. Leaned up against the banister, he’s still recovering when a scream shatters the stillness — then another. His head snaps up, bewildered. A woman is racing down the stairs, clutching her chest. Her eyes just as wide and shiny with fear as his own. She whips past him, nearly tripping, her bare feet slapping the floor. He draws his gun and turns it on her, his lips screwing into a tight line.

His finger trembles over the trigger.

This woman is a trespasser. She played a part in defiling his home. It’s reason enough for him to hate her with his whole being. His lizard brain still shrieks for blood, and someone has to pay.

But glaring down that quivering barrel at her, he sees her dress torn up the back, the blood trailing down her leg. And something lurches inside him. There are fates that make death a kindness in comparison. A fate that Alfred, he realizes, may have shared. Because god knows Gotham has always been a breeding ground for, and enabling force of, the ugliness in humanity, and the reunification effort wouldn’t change that. Only drive the worst of the worst underground for a while.

With a soft, shuddering exhale, he lets his arm drop, watching her plunge out the door into the cold. She wouldn’t get far on foot, a long way from civilization. Not without luck on her side.

His gaze shifts to the top of the stairs, his temples throbbing. Gripping the banister and clenching his jaw, he wills himself upward. Halfway to the second-floor landing, Lee and Alfred appear, coming towards him.]

...what happened?

XD

[flippin_peachy]

It's over. They're... [Lee says, her voice wavering and she swallows, hearing a click in her throat.] ...they're all dead.

[Her eyes flicker to Alfred's hands which are covered in blood and after a moment she forces herself to look up at his face which is dull and tired looking.]

We should get Alfred back to my clinic. I can treat his wounds there.

No.

[He croaks and slowly un-clenches the hand holding the fire poker, it clangs against the floor, echoing in the silence around them and he takes two shambling steps towards Oswald.]

I want to go home.

Alfred, you need treatment.

[His eyes, which finally seem to have some life in them again, lock onto Oswald's.]

Please, sir?

[He asks Oswald, his voice almost pleading with him.]

[hobblepot]

[He places all his focus on safely descending the stairs, taking it step by step before giving them his full attention. With Lee appealing to his sense of reason and Alfred to his heart, he needs a moment to think, fretting his lip as he looks into Alfred’s puffy, harried face. Alfred has never begged him for anything — not since that day Oswald put his rope-chafed hands around his neck and squeezed with everything he had.

Oswald draws a steadying breath.]

I need you to patch him up as best you can. [He tells Lee, finally.] There might still be medical supplies in the bathroom down the hall. Towels, at least. I will look for something he can wear.

[He makes it two steps before whirling around and awkwardly shimmying off his thick wool coat. Alfred has suffered humiliation long enough; he shouldn’t have to freeze on top of that.]

[flippin_peachy]

[Lee casts one last look at Oswald and Alfred before walking off to go find supplies, leaving the two battered men alone at the foot of the steps. Alfred's eyes are no longer set with grim determination, instead they watch with tired curiosity as Oswald shimmies out of his coat. When Oswald wraps the coat around Alfred's shoulders he feels something shift inside him, his chest loosens and he exhales a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding and moves to lean his body against the smaller man.]

....thank you.

[He breathes and rests his head against the crook of Oswald's neck, his eyes closing as he fully realizes that he's safe again.]

Thank you for saving me.

[hobblepot]

[While it’s in Alfred’s size, the coat fits him only slightly better, hanging off his rounded, sagging shoulders. Oswald doesn’t know how to make him look or feel any more comfortable in it, not wanting to chafe the wounds on his back. And it’s while he fumbles to do up at least a couple of buttons with one hand that Alfred slumps into him, rocking him onto his back foot. Blinking, Oswald catches himself, bracing Alfred’s shoulder to steady both of them.

Alfred’s breath is hot on his neck. Oswald can smell the iron on his skin, and he closes his eye, his brows drawing tight. It’s strange, being thanked the way he has always wanted to be thanked by the world — meaningfully, sincerely — and yet feeling so deeply unworthy of it. Feeling ill, as the last of his unspent rage gives way to grief.]

I have lost so many people that I cared about... [He swallows against the lump rising into his throat.] I could not bear the thought of losing you, too.

[And yet, he hasn’t really saved Alfred — not for good. Only bought him a little more time. But nothing is forever, and these fleeting moments between them are the most either of them can hope for.]

I’m sorry. [A sharp breath tears through him, tears gathering at the corner of his eye.] ...I have been cruel and unkind, and I took you for granted. While you were suffering at the hands of these animals, I was asleep in my bed, assuming you would be back by dinner time, and that everything would be just as it always was.

[A sad, hiccupping laugh shakes him.]

I only woke up because I was hungry.

[flippin_peachy]

[There's a long pause, one in which someone else might have gotten angry with Oswald, maybe even lashed out at his selfish behaviour and how awful it was that he waited so long before realizing something was wrong. But Alfred feels no outrage, in a way it makes sense that it took Oswald till dinner to realize that Alfred wasn't even there as they've had a pretty set schedule these past few weeks and instead of harsh words he starts to laugh. It starts out a low chuffing but then turns into a deep, rich laugh and he hugs Oswald tightly.]

Well it's good to know you like my cooking so much.

[His tone is one of lighthearted teasing and despite the horrible torture he's had to endure when he pulls back to look into Oswald's face he is smiling and there is no judgment in his eyes.]

Although if you don't mind, sir, I think tonight's meal might have to be something simple like soup and sandwiches.

timeskippery

[hobblepot]

[Back at Wayne Manor, Alfred is eased out of his coat, and his bed quickly becomes a makeshift examination table. Oswald raids the nearest medicine cabinet, bringing Lee everything he can find: antiseptic ointment, gauze, bandages, nitrile gloves. He watches her pull a chair up to the bedside and clear the nightstand, suddenly feeling too big for the room. Drowning in that silence. Chewing his nails, he struggles not to stare at the blood, the gashes. When Lee readies the antiseptic, he can't stay.

Among the rations Alfred’s been diligently stockpiling — bricks of instant noodles, jerky, granola bars — Oswald finds two tins of tomato soup. Dusting the lids off with his sleeve, he cracks open the pull tabs and pours the contents into a small pot. A few lumps of celery, potato, and carrot tumble out. He cautiously licks one of the lids, wrinkling his nose. It’s a tart, bland excuse for soup; a far cry from what either of them could make on a good day. But with a heavy dash of seasoning and a slab of buttered toast alongside it, they’d make do; they've both survived on less.

He flicks on the burner, cuts two generous slices from the loaf in the bread box, and loads the toaster before slumping into the nearest chair to wait.

With the adrenaline draining out of him, he realizes just how weak and winded bedrest has left him, how much everything hurts. He’s not sure how he’ll get the food upstairs, but he’s determined to carry it up and see that Alfred is fed — even if it takes several trips. It’s the most and the least he can do.]

[flippin_peachy]

[As far as patients go, Alfred is one of the best she's ever had. He lays face down on his bed, grateful to be able to feel it's familiar softness again and let's Lee do her work in silence. He doesn't move or flinch, just endures any pain and when she is finished he thanks her softly and eases back up into a sitting position.]

I'll call you in a few days to check in, but for now just keep the area clean and get as much rest as you can, okay? [She feels a little silly telling him how to care for the wounds as it's obvious from the old scars on his back that he is no stranger to such things but the doctor in her can't help it and before she starts to pack up to leave she impulsively hugs him.]

I mean it about the rest. [She tells him as sternly as she can even though she is close to crying in relief that they all made it through okay.] If I hear about you doing anything more strenuous than a walk outside I'll be back and me and Oswald will tie you to this bed.

[Maybe not the best thing to say after he was chained up but right as she starts to worry about it he chuckles, a deep rumbling sound and gives her a little squeeze before letting go.]

Sounds like fun. [He teases and she laughs softly, releasing him and standing up to leave.]

Careful, I'm a married woman now.

A married woman who should get home to her husband, go on. [He says and waves her off with a smile.] We'll manage just fine. But before you go, may I have that cap I asked you to carry?

[She had forgotten all about it in the rush to get him home and patched up and she slips a hand into her pocket, pulling the sleeping cap out and handing it over to him.]

Is it important?

[Alfred looks down at it, his eyes soft and he nods.]

Yes. It might sound ludicrous but finding this almost makes all that dreadful business worth it.

[It's not her place to argue so instead she just nods and gives him one last look before heading off.]

[hobblepot]

[He hears Lee coming down the stairs – it’s easy to distinguish her footsteps from Alfred’s, all things considered – and pushes to stand after another break from minding the soup. In a few clicks of his crutch, he appears in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. His heart pounds heavily in his throat.]

...how bad is it? [There’s an anxious knit to his brow, a desperation to know everything there is to know. But his tone is not unhopeful.]

[flippin_peachy]

He's going to be left with a lot of scars, the wounds are deep but so long as you help him with keeping the area clean and changing the bandages once a day he should be fine.

[She reports, casting a glance back towards Alfred's room and then back at Oswald.]

I left some supplies in his room and I'll try to stop by next week for a check in.

[There's a pause and she takes a step towards Oswald, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a small, gentle squeeze.]

I'm glad you two have one another.

[hobblepot]

[Oswald hangs on her every word, his gaze lingering on her, weary and unfocused, when she briefly looks away. With a sense of calm, of order restored settling over the manor, it feels like it was a long time ago when she spun on him with fury in her eyes, tearing him down for making peace with death. She saved him tonight. But her pulling the trigger on Rob hasn’t granted him a new lease on life. It's the responsibility he has to care for Alfred that will keep him going — his debt of gratitude to the man upstairs. And maybe, by the time Alfred is well again, weeks from now, and Oswald feels he has paid his dues, he will have found another reason to face the day. For now, he’d just have to take each one as it comes.

Her touch brings him back. He blinks, looking to her hand with a restless flicker of his eyelashes. Not offended, but unsure where the gesture is coming from.]

Thank you.

[He offers, quietly. His lips twitch, and he suddenly doesn’t know what to say without feeling like he might cry. Something he’s prepared to blame on his frazzled nerves, the exhaustion.]

For taking care of him.

[flippin_peachy]

You're welcome.

[She says and removes her hand from his shoulder, giving him a brief but hopefully encouraging smile.]

You should get some rest as well, you look done in.

[As is she if she's being honest, it's been a long night and right now all she wants to do is go home and have a glass of wine and hug her husband.]

Goodnight, Oswald.

[hobblepot]

[Alfred is stable, would recover – and Oswald waits for the next moment to come, for the sheer relief that’s supposed to swell inside him, just like it did back at the Van Dahl mansion, and pour out as tearful laughter. But there's a heaviness settling in his chest. Something he’s afraid to label after everything he’s been through tonight.

He had wanted Alfred back. That hasn’t changed.

He swallows and nods dimly, looking at his feet.]

See you next week.

[He says, his throat aching.

He’s the first to turn away this time, slowly making his way back into the kitchen where the tomato soup is gently bubbling. He listens for the sound of the front door while ladling out as much of the solids as he can into a single bowl. Balancing a tray while hobbling up the stairs strikes him as an accident waiting to happen. So, he brings the soup first – Alfred’s – hugging the bowl to his chest as he fights his way up, step by step. By the time he reaches the top, he’s completely breathless. But at least nothing has spilled. Life, now, is about the little victories.

After giving his heartbeat a moment to even out, he moves on, rounding the corner into Alfred’s bedroom.]

[flippin_peachy]

[When Oswald enters the bedroom Alfred looks up from his position in bed, his eyes growing wide with realization at how complicated this simple task is for his Master and moves to help.]

Oh, I'm terribly sorry sir.

[He says and grabs a chair from the near by writing desk and pulls it over to the bed, motioning for Oswald to sit in it.]

Here, sit for a moment. I can get the rest.

[hobblepot]

[He's not prepared for the fierce rush of anger he feels at Alfred’s apology, at his insistence on accommodating him. And Oswald’s that much angrier knowing he can't do a damn thing to stop him — his hands too full to wave him off, his body too useless. He drops into the wooden chair Alfred has dragged over, the soup sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the bowl.]

No.

[There's no give in his voice, in the set of his jaw. Closing his eye, his focus sharpens on the blood pumping dizzyingly hard at his temples. He needs a moment just to breathe. But he doesn't feel any calmer.]

...You are not going anywhere. All you are going to do is eat this and get some rest. That’s it.

[He heaves a sigh, long-balled up inside him, and slumps into the chair as if it's the only thing keeping him from collapsing. For now, it might just be.]

If you need something, just say so, and I will bring it to you.

[flippin_peachy]

[He can see the anger in Oswald's eyes and it makes him pause, his desire to help at war with his desire to do as he is being ordered.]

Yes sir, as you wish.

[He says at last and slowly sinks back down onto the bed, feeling a little deflated but also grateful since he is very tired.]

I didn't mean to offend you, I just....you've already done so much for me tonight.

[Like save his life and bring him home.]

I just wanted to try and repay your kindness.

[He pauses again and then motions for Oswald to put the soup on the bedside table, reaching under his pillow for the cap he made sure to retrieve from Lee.]

But perhaps there's a better way to do that.
Here.

[He says softly and holds out the sleeping cap, it's a little rumpled but the golden silk fabric miraculously has no bloodstains or any other kind.]

[hobblepot]

[There's some hope, when Alfred relents, that they can leave things at this. That he can bring Alfred his toast and go — dipping in and out of his room every now and again, asking Alfred nothing meaningful, and Alfred quietly killing him one thank you and one sorry at a time. The both of them only skimming the surface of everything that’s happened in the past few hours, slipping back into life at Wayne Manor without Bruce Wayne and Edward Nygma. But it’s not so simple when Alfred offers him the hat: the same one his father gave him when he made a place for him in his home and in his heart that one wet, bone-cold afternoon. He hears himself suck in a soft, sharp breath as if physically struck, the little boy in him reaching out, desperate to touch it.

He turns the cap slowly in his hands, this delicate thing of silk and golden thread. Although wrinkled, it’s oddly pristine considering where it came from. He’s reminded of the mud and debris tracked over the floor of the mansion, the bare walls where portraits once hung proudly, watching over generations of Van Dahls. The long, gutted hallway leading to Alfred on a chain. This simple sleeping cap might be the only tangible thing left of his father now. Something Alfred must have understood.

All the pent-up fear and helplessness inside Oswald — everything he’s felt leading up to the rescue — lodges behind his Adam’s apple. Alfred should have never been there; Oswald hadn’t asked him to venture beyond city limits. But he did, and suffered for it. Like everyone else who has ever gotten too close to him. Somewhere down the line, feeling anything for him always comes at a cost.

Oswald is still staring at the cap when he feels his face wrench up. He makes a strangled noise in his throat, shaking his head. Was bringing something, anything, back to him worth being beaten half to death? Was anything worth it anymore?]

[flippin_peachy]

[If asked if it was worth it Alfred wouldn't hesitate to say that yes, it was. All the pain, fear and torture was well worth being able to bring Oswald something special to him, something that might make him remember simpler and better times. Or maybe to just prove that someone out there was willing to go to great lengths to try and make him happy.

Either way when Oswald starts to almost shrink in on himself Alfred moves to wrap his arms around him, hugging him gently and rubbing his back as he cries. There's no shame in shedding tears for the memories associated with such a thing, he's often cried when he's gone out back to the garage and looked at Bruce's old wagon. The one he got when he was seven. The one he pulled behind him all over the manor, filling the back with rocks he had found in the garden.

'I'm going to build a home for my wagon.'

How proud he had been when he told Alfred his idea and later the two of them had done just that, laid rocks and stones and planks of wood until the bright red wagon had somewhere safe to stay and as he holds Oswald, hugging and comforting him he quietly promises to do the same now.

He's going to build somewhere safe.
He's going to build a home.]