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cantsayidont · 11 months

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October 1966. You can't keep a dead butler down. About two years after killing off Alfred the butler in 1964, editor Julius Schwartz was faced with a problem: William Dozier, the producer of the forthcoming Batman TV show, wanted to include Alfred in the show, and wanted him reintroduced into the comics as well! Schwartz and writer Gardner Fox struggled with this challenge and finally came up with the utterly preposterous story presented in the issue above.

Even for a Silver Age Gardner Fox comic book, this story is exceptionally convoluted, so it's best considered chronologically. We begin with a flashback sequence involving iconoclastic "all-around scientific genius" Brandon "Plot Device" Crawford:

This is already straining credulity a little because the story in DETECTIVE COMICS #328 in which Alfred died (helpfully recapped elsewhere in this issue) showed that he had been crushed to death by a giant boulder. That did not seem survivable at all, and even if it were, this would imply that neither Batman and Robin nor whatever doctor who filled out Alfred's death certificate nor the mortician noticed that he wasn't actually dead! Anyway …

So, Alfred wasn't actually dead, he wasn't embalmed, and he was buried in a refrigerated coffin (that's what the purple cylinders in the last panel previous page were for). A stretch, but we'll allow it. However, upon discovering this, Crawford, instead of calling an ambulance like a normal person, seizes on the opportunity to do some Frankenstein shit with Alfred's maimed, broken, mostly dead body, as one does (if one is a reclusive "radical individualist" who dropped out of college to pursue unorthodox, dubiously ethical scientific experiments, I guess).

One of the initial objects of Schwartz's tenure had been to rid the Batman books of the fantastical aliens, monsters, and bizarre transformations of the 1957–1963 period in favor of something a little more grounded. All that goes out the window here, despite the rather defensive editorial footnote, which says:

EDITOR'S NOTE: Physics professor Robert Ettinger, author of "The Prospect of Immortality," has said that death can only be defined in relative terms. He points to the hundreds of persons revived after drowning, asphyxiation, electrocution, and heart attack. "Biological death depends not only on the state of the body," Ettinger says, "but also on the state of medical art!"

Okay, then. On to the Frankenstein shit:

So, Crawford's experimental cell regeneration machine has restored Alfred's broken body, but in the process transformed him into an unrecognizable, rather hideous-looking being who is also evil. Check! The regeneration effect we see Crawford panicking about then transforms him so that he looks like Alfred, while leaving him in "a catatonic trance." The Outsider, rather ungratefully, puts Crawford's unconscious body back in Alfred's coffin to cover his tracks, and uses Crawford's various machines and his own "increased mental power" in his new quest to destroy Batman and Robin.

This was not the first appearance of the Outsider, who had actually been hounding the Dynamic Duo on and off since DETECTIVE COMICS #334 two years earlier, although he had never appeared on-panel, and his identity had been a mystery. Where Schwartz originally intended to take that plotline is not clear (Schwartz's own account doesn't say, and Gardner Fox said later that he didn't think Schwartz had a solution in mind at the outset), but it doesn't seem likely that revealing the Outsider as Alfred was the plan, particularly since subsequent Outsider stories had shown that the villain had superhuman powers, including the ability to bring inanimate objects to life! In this story, the Outsider really does transform Robin into a wooden coffin, as the cover indicates — it's not a hypnotic illusion or some other such dodge. Fortunately, the effect is reversed after the villain is defeated:

Batman's determination to keep these events secret from Alfred is bizarre, since Alfred's death is a matter of public record: As seen in DETECTIVE COMICS #328, Bruce Wayne started a charitable foundation in Alfred's name, with its own building in Gotham City! Batman suggests that they can rename the charity the Wayne Foundation (as of course they subsequently did), but how he expects to resolve the various problems created by Alfred having been legally dead for months without his finding out is unclear. They do take the time to retrieve Crawford (who has miraculously not suffocated or starved to death in Alfred's coffin) and use his machine to return him to normal, after which Batman suggests that Bruce Wayne will give Crawford a job at the renamed foundation.

If you're wondering, "Wait, does this mean Alfred now had super-powers?" the answer is yes! Since he didn't retain any conscious memory of his death and resurrection, he was normally unaware of this, but Alfred's evil Outsider personality resurfaced several times, and he sometimes spontaneously reverted to the Outsider's form, in which he once again had supernatural abilities:

Notice the background, with the buildings burning like candles? The Outsider did that with his mental powers, along with a bunch of less grandiose but equally impossible feats. Fortunately, they reverted to normal after he split into separate good (Alfred) and evil (Outsider) selves and defeated himself. The Outsider resurfaced once more in 1985, battling the Outsiders and nearly killing Superman by transforming the Batcave's giant penny into Green Kryptonite.

I guess this whole saga did resolve the problem of resurrecting Alfred for the TV show, but in what I think can fairly be called the most ludicrous way possible. (And you thought the PENNYWORTH show spun out of GOTHAM was silly …)

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blametheeditor · 1 month

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Mike is the best giant to have guarding you, even if he would totally forget about you if he put you in a pant pocket! 10/10 would let hold me

mcfries123, I couldn't agree more.

There needs to be more Mike appreciation in this household! Because he is by far the best of giants. Especially when he forgets about you in a pocket.

Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of accidental death and injury. Mentions of experimenting on others. Addressing someone 'it'. Mentions of food poisoning.

Exhibit A

___________________________

“Hypothetically...”

Scott jolts at the sound of Vincent’s voice, turning to see the purple man materializing out of the shadows, looking uncharacteristically somber as their eyes meet.

This can’t be good. “What the hell is he up to?”

Vincent’s eyebrows raise at the want to get straight to the point. And even though Scott wants to do nothing more than berate the purple man for continuously trying to give him a heart attack, hypotheticals are rarely used between them. Because there’s no such thing as a ‘hypothetical’ in their lives, simply warnings of what’s to come.

“Hypothetically,” Vincent repeats as he slowly walks closer. Sends the hair on the back of Scott’s neck standing straight. Not because it feels like he’s being hunted down despite being completely alone in a dark hallway at Fazbear’s Pizzeria with an admittedly dangerous man. No, it’s the slumped posture with hands in pockets and amber eyes watching him like he might disappear at any second that terrifies him. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

There is no stopping Scott sending a scathing glare at the taller. It falters when there’s not even a hint of a smirk, but there better be a damn good reason for asking such a ridiculous question like their lives depend on it. “Seriously, Vince?”

“Seriously,” the purple man murmurs gravely. Steps so close he’s almost staring directly down at Scott, making him feel much smaller than he really is despite only being two inches shorter.

Why is he surprised? Being told about his horrific death to come in the most convoluted way possible is just a normal Tuesday to him. “I wouldn’t step on you, but I can’t promise I wouldn’t make sure no one else did.”

Vincent hums. “I’m a little hurt, Scotty.”

“Like you wouldn’t immediately turn me into fish bait,” Scott scowls.

The smallest of smiles lifts the corner of Vincent’s mouth, disappearing so quickly it’s almost like it never happened. “Clearly our friendship means nothing to you. But, hypothetically, what if you turned into a worm.”

...no, that’s impossible. He can't just turn people into a worm. “Is this purely hypothetical?”

“The worm part, yes. The size part, though...”

He’s given a significant look that sends a chill down his spine. “I'm sorry, he’s just going to shrink me?”

“Randomly,” Vincent confirms without any trace of mirth in his voice. “And not just you. Wouldn’t want to perform his first field test on someone much more useful when they’re taller than five feet only to realize it can’t be reversed.”

Scott searches Vincent’s face for any sign that this is just to scare him, a test to make him reveal just how attached he has become to certain night guards, to see if he’ll go against the company just to save himself. There’s nothing except for a single sliver of fear in Vincent’s normally vacant eyes. Meaning this is real. As if the countless other experiments and the laundry list of responsibilities weren’t enough.

“Are you on the list?”

“Not at the moment.” The purple man raises an eyebrow. “Would you be willing to at least put me on a table if I promise not to use you as bait.”

And suddenly, Scott’s faced with the realization there is a very real threat of his best friend being able to accidentally crush him under his shoe without even realizing. For Scott to kill Vincent if he were to never notice his minuscule form on the floor, or mistaken him for an irate gnat. For someone to mistake him as an annoying insect because they wouldn’t know something like someone shrinking could be possible.

“What do you mean by random?” Scott breathes.

“As in,” Vincent begins solemnly. “Who would you trust even if they had absolutely no clue you were smaller than three inches tall.”

Mike watches something peer out from underneath a game cabinet.

He originally thought it was a bug when he first saw it. The skittish movements when it first thought about running away from the table didn’t help its case, especially as it kept ducking back under the tablecloth before he could get a good look at it.

But once it finally darted out into the open, he could see it wasn’t a bug. He’s dealt with too many different types to assume he just hadn’t managed to run into something that walks on two legs until now. And right before it disappeared from sight again, it had gotten close enough for him to make out hair and two arms moving in time with the desperate sprint.

Definitely not a bug. This was his first time encountering an action figure that can move on its own, though.

He was a bit curious. Not enough to leave his post by the restaurant doors, because the moment he does is the moment David cuts his shift covering for yet another absent day guard short and send him home after banning him from Fazbear Entertainment Center for a week. So instead he watched the shadows under the game cabinet every so often after checking to make sure no one who shouldn’t be in the building slipped by him.

Was rewarded with the tiny figure carefully leaning out of the shadows as it attempts to wave him down.

Mike is more than happy to give it attention considering all the hard work it put in to grab it. Even more so when he recognizes the flame of red hair, smirking with pride at how well Fritz managed to avoid having a parent scream or accidentally entice a hell spawn to grab him off the ground. Who knew the kid had it in him.

Oh shit, wait a minute. Irish Jigs aren’t supposed to be living action figures.

At the realization one of the assholes he’s in charge of either fucked with shit they weren’t supposed to, or something was fucking shit up with them, the need to help overrides making David happy. Besides, the animatronics at this restaurant can actually grab anyone causing a fuss. They’ll survive if he takes a small break.

With a glance around the room filled with screaming children, Mike makes his way over to the game cabinet being used for cover. Keeps a close eye on the miniscule form, a reassurance he sees the kid and is on the way to help. He also watches to see if the kid gets spooked and races off either further into the shadows or toward him.

Fritz doesn’t move a muscle. And when the guard is so close he needs to look almost directly down, there’s the telltale sign of blinding terror. But that’s what Mike’s for, to get the frozen figure somewhere safe until he can kick whoever’s ass needs to be kicked.

Any other circumstance, being so scared your limbs refuse to move would be a bad thing, because there’s nothing worse than being unable to anything, even if running away seems cowardly. Today, they luck out on this being the one time it won’t get them into more trouble than fleeing, because a frozen Fritz is easier to grab than any other one. Doesn’t move a single inch as he kneels down on the floor, not even as he reaches a hand up to get the kid off the ground.

The moment his fingers curl around the kid to scoop him up is the one instincts finally kick in and tiny limbs attempt to punch and kick their way to freedom. It’s too late to do any good though. He doesn’t know how it feels being small enough to loose a fight to a single finger, but he does know what it’s like to be the person with a substantial upper hand. And that is that Fritz is fragile.

Mike is careful, he went for a full grab instead of pinching the kid between his fingers for a reason, but there’s no missing the painful look no matter how small it is.

His eyes narrow as he pins Fritz before lifting his hand up. Raises an eyebrow when the desperate fighting decreases at the same time the miniscule heartbeat increases. Stares for a moment before deciding now will be a bad time to check for injuries. Not when a random kid or asshole of an animatronic can interrupt him.

Fuck, the animatronics. If they see him with a tiny Irish Jig, they’ll demand a turn claiming they’d be better at caring for one.

Like hell they would. And Mike was the one asked for help, not them. But how to hide it to avoid an argument.

He glances down at his uniform, smirking when he spots the chest pocket big enough to fit a card inside, meaning it’s perfect to hide a Fritz not even as tall as his finger. And to test it, he holds it open with his free hand as his occupied one gently rolls the kid until he’s lying in his curled fingers. From there it’s a careful drop into the pocket.

He hears a soft shriek, but as he looks down to check on his cargo, there’s no sign of pain, only a bit of terror. That’s a win in his book.

Offering a smirk, Mike gently pats his pocket to say the kid just needs to wait a little longer. To put words into action, he pushes himself off the floor before turning toward the hallway that leads to David’s office, keeping to the walls so a running hell spawn doesn’t barrel into him and give Fritz a jumpscare.

He makes it to an all too familiar door without incident, giving a knock as he opens it to reveal a suited man hunched over his desk.

“Hey, Douche Bag.”

That earns him a glare over the shoulder. “This is why I regret taking your offer on covering shifts as a day guard. Why are you bothering me?”

And that’s why Mike isn’t going to let David have his very own Pocket Fritz. It’s a privilege, not a right, and clearly their resident douche bag doesn’t deserve the honor.

“Irish Jig feels like shit,” he begins. “I’m taking his ass home.”

The business man hesitates before turning his chair to properly scold the dumbass trying to leave him two employees less than he was an hour ago. That’s Mike, he’s the dumbass. “What the hell did he do?”

Mike shrugs. “Don’t know, some hell spawn might’ve had something. Or someone fucked up the pizza and poisoned his ass.”

“Food poison. Say it properly so I don’t get another wonderful visit from a concerned parent’s lawyer,” David growls. “And I’m not dismissing either of you. As idiotic as it was for Scott to hire a doctor, he might as well be useful for once.”

Mike hums in thought at letting James help care for the tiny Fritz. The guard agrees on the doctor not being a necessity, but his help is appreciated every time it’s offered.

He glances down at his pocket for input. Meets wide green eyes before the miniscule head shakes vigorously. The kid has spoken, and that’s all he needs to shake his own head at David. “There’s no stitches for Snitches to sew. I’ll take him home so the poor bastard can die in goddamn peace.”

The business man goes silent for a moment, most likely deciding whether or not the fight would be worth it. Finally sighs long and hard as he waves a hand. “Why Scott hasn’t fired you I will never know. But fine, go. You just earned yourself a ban from my restaurant until further notice, and Fritz coming into work two hours early tomorrow unpaid.”

Mike gives a lazy sault to say he heard loud and clear. He then closes David’s door and makes his way to the front doors, glad to get off work a few hours earlier than expected. He doesn’t mind doing favors for the others, but damn do those day shifts love cutting into his sleeping hours, especially after particularly long nights. Thank fuck it’s Friday. After tonight’s shift he’ll have a full 24 hours to do shit all but sleep.

As tired as he is, though, he won’t be crashing until he and Fritz come up with a plan to make sure David doesn’t call James on them if the kid doesn’t show up for his shift tomorrow.

At the reminder of why he risked getting banned, he gently pokes the shivering ball huddled in his pocket. “You okay, asshole?”

The kid looks so damn adorable as tiny limbs flail in the attempt to stand up. It only gets better when Fritz finally manages to, only to stand too short to see over the lip. “I’m-m okay. Thanks Mike.”

“Anytime,” he smirks. “So did you fuck with shit, or did someone fuck with you?”

“I think the second one?” Fritz murmurs, almost too soft for him to hear. “I don’t really no what happened. I-I was going to the kitchen to run an order out, and then the ground exploded and I fell under a table tiny.”

Someone’s definitely fucking shit up with them. If he wanted to make a bet, he’d say it’s most likely William. Who else would shrink the poor kid without giving them a heads up. The son of a bitch is lucky Mike was able to find their Irish Jig before anyone else got their hands on him or else there would be hell to pay.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m tired as hell. We’ll head to my place, see if this shit has a timer, and if not I’ll teach you how to be a badass night guard. Sound good?”

Fritz nods his head. “Sounds good.”

Mike has a feeling the kid’s just glad to have someone around to protect him. That’s why the guard’s here, to keep him safe while he does whatever the hell he wants to. After getting checked over for injuries.

The rest of the walk is quiet. He checks on Fritz from time to time as the tiny figure learns the way of the pocket. He didn’t except it to be too much of a hassle, but apparently it’s a bit of a bitch to conquer. The minuscule flame of hair does finally appear after struggling for a good while to climb up to see the rest of the world. Then Mike ruins all the hard work by giving a poke to send the kid falling back into the pocket with a shriek.

By the time Fritz makes it to the top again, Mike’s unlocking the door to his apartment. Perfect timing to let him scoop the kid up to lift up to his face as he walks to the couch to sit down. Gives a smirk at the startled expression he can now properly see.

Without anymore distractions and no possibility of some asshole snatching Fritz away, he can finally make sure no bruises or broken bones made special appearances on this adventure. As long as the person he’s trying to check over lets him do his job, and Fritz curling into a ball as he shies away is a perfect example of that very problem.

“I-I’m okay, Mike!”

He raises an eyebrow. “When did that shit ever work for Jerber.”

Fritz winces. “Never...but I’m okay, really! Promise!”

“Don’t throw around that shit unless you mean it,” Mike warns as he nudges the kid’s side. Sees the brief look of pain before hands are attempting to bat him away. Despite how adorable it is, it’s not enough to distract him. “I know I’m a pain in the ass, but you’re hurt, and I need to make sure you’re not fucked up.”

Nervousness suddenly turns into fear as Fritz stares up at him. “But, but you’re...”

The quiet voice disappears as shivers start up. It takes a moment but he manages to figure out the terror’s being directed toward him. Mike leans back a bit to give the kid some space, watching the miniscule chest take a stuttering breath as the tense shoulders slump.

“Think I’ll fuck you up more?” he guesses.

“You’re so big,” Fritz admits, and then he’s being hit with puppy eyes as tiny arms gesture. “Your fingers are bigger than me! An-n-nd taller!”

Honestly, he didn’t think it’d be too much of an issue. Fritz is tiny enough to fit in his pocket, but that doesn’t change the fact Mike’s responsible for him. Will haul his ass out of the fire any day and then check to make sure he’s okay even if what his own fault for getting hurt.

Mike hums. “So you think I’d fuck you up more?”

Fritz hesitates. Thinks it over before slowly shaking his head. “N-No.”

Nothing else is said. Then the kid holds out his arm before turning his head away. The guard happily takes the permission to check the limb and delicately pinches it between his thumb and first finger. Feels the miniscule muscles tense as he carefully checks for any injuries.

With a hum declaring it’s clean as he frees it, the opposite arm is immediately given. Then the legs at which Fritz stopped shaking and watched Mike work with fascination.

Until he gets to the chest, the kid growing nervous again when he asks for the shirt to be lifted up. “I, um-m...I think it’s bruised.”

“Let me see.”

The puppy eyes don’t get Fritz anywhere. Finally the shirt’s lifted to reveal a dark bruise covering the kid’s chest. Mike looks it over before slowly placing his thumb over the ribcage, careful not to put any pressure.

“Hurt like hell?” he asks when there’s no flinch.

“Not anymore.”

“How about your back?”

Fritz’s brow crinkles in thought. “I don’t think so, it’s just sore.”

That’s enough for Mike to gingerly pinch Fritz’s entire torso between two fingers. Watch for any grimaces or winces as he checks for broken bones. He finds nothing. Thank fuck.

“Alright asshole, you’re good,” the guard proclaims as he pulls his hand away. “Was I a shit or mediocre Stiches?”

“A good one,” Fritz grins. A grin that Mike takes as confirmation he’s finally allowed to get some sleep.

Yawning as his hand forms a fist around the kid, he ignores the yelps in order to turn and lie completely on the couch. Once he’s settled Fritz is then set down on his chest beside the pocket he hid in earlier, just in case it’s wanted again.

“M-Mike?”

The worried call earns a hair ruffle Mike had been wanting to give ever since finding the shrunken bastard. Smirks unashamedly down at the tiny pout. “I’m going to take a nap. Do whatever the hell you want. Just yell if you need me.”

“Oh! Um, okay.”

With one arm tucked behind his head to act as a pillow, the other puts his security ballcap over his eyes to block out the sunlight before settling on his stomach. Just like that, he’s out like a light.

Fritz doesn’t wake him up once with a yell for help. A few times unintentionally at the feeling of tiny footsteps walking across him, the most prominent one when Fritz decides to join his napping by crawling under his hand to curl up underneath his fingers. The only time he woke up completely to check on the kid was when the barely noticeable figure suddenly became too big to use his hand as shelter to keep out the afternoon light.

As Mike lifts his hat to check on the kid still sleeping the day away despite having grown a full five feet two inches within seconds, he admittedly fells a little disappointed a pocket Fritz wouldn’t be joining him for work. A normal sized one might enjoy night guard training a little more, though. Be able to actually switch the cameras and punch the door button instead of just have to watch.

At least David will be happy Fritz won’t be late to work. But Scott won’t be when Mike tells him about their eventful morning.

That’s for later, though. He’ll tell his mentor tomorrow.

Except he forgets to. Forgets about Fritz shrinking in the middle of his shift completely. Only remembers when he spots something trying to escape from the quicksand that is pop-up poppers behind the glass of the prize counter. A certain mechanic who isn’t supposed to only be worth ten tickets.

Well shit.

#it's nice to see you again mcfries!#thank you for spreading awareness Mike is superior #it is a truth not many know #I hope you enjoy this proof as a token of my appreciation #and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!#will this get another chapter?#most certainly will #I have no regerts #g/t #giant #tiny #FNAF bois #ask #BTE writing #cw #content warning

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