Bruce watched his son's face freeze in disbelief. "…Wha…What?" the boy whispered. "I…I don't understand."
"It's a long story, kiddo, like I said, but…Gobblehead is dying," he repeated himself.
"But…I…he…noooo…"
The billionaire caught him as he slumped forward, sobbing. "I'm sorry, baby," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"Fix it!"
"I…I don't think I can." For all that he had argued briefly with Clark about trying, the more he thought about it the less plausible it seemed that he would be able to come up with something to reverse half a decade of enhancement side effects in two days. This is all based in his genes, he lamented as he rocked his shaking child. He was altered before he was even born, at least he was if I'm remembering what I read back then correctly. Even just fighting the symptoms, the swelling and the calcification in his brain…I don't know how to do half of that in humans, let alone in a turkey. And we have such a limited window in which to work as it is…
"Can't s-somebody help?!"
"Dicky…he has less than forty-eight hours."
"Then we n-n-need to start t-trying now!"
Oh, kiddo… "Listen to me," he requested. "The place Gobblehead came from spent a lot of time and effort trying to fix what's wrong with him. He's not the first turkey with this problem. They never figured out how to make it stop, or their project would have been a success, and…well, the world would be a very different place. If the people who had in-depth knowledge of what they'd done to cause the things that are…killing him…couldn't solve it, we don't stand a chance. Not with so little time. I'll still try if you want me to, but…it's not going to do any good."
"It m-might!" a snot-filled voice protested. "Between Batman and Superman and R-robin and Alfred, why couldn't we come up with s-s-something?!"
"I don't know anything about turkeys, chum, and unless he's been keeping it a secret from me Alfred pretty much knows how to cook them, and that's it."
"I'm afraid that is more or less the extent of my knowledge, young sir," the butler confirmed, his face radiating commiseration. "Mister Kent, do you have any insight?"
"…Not really," the Kryptonian shook his head. "We never had anything like this in our turkeys, and if we had…well, we would have called a vet or just put the thing out of its misery."
"You mean you'd k-k-kill it?!" Dick nearly shrieked.
"Aaah…yeah," Clark confessed, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously when Bruce turned to shoot him an ugly glare.
"We c-can't kill Gobbles!" the boy pulled away from his guardian to sob. "Don't kill him, Bruce, it w-wasn't his fault!"
Oh, god, stop, the billionaire begged silently, his own eyes burning. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you, I guess…maybe if he'd just, I don't know, died in his sleep or something…but then I would have lied to you again, and if your behavior upstairs was any indication as to how well you're taking the last time I did that I don't think I want to go there. "…Dick," he spoke in a low, firm voice, "listen to me. Just listen," he urged, pressing their foreheads together and holding the youth still as his breathing ventured towards hyperventilation. "We're not going to kill Gobblehead. That's not why Clark is here. He came to let us know what to expect, that's all. He came to warn us, and now he's sticking around to help us deal with it."
"I'm just here to lend a hand, pal," was pitched in from the background.
"…See? We're not going to kill him, I promise."
Dick went still. "…You promise?"
"Yeah, kiddo. Honest."
"But you l-lied before!"
"I know," the billionaire sighed, guiding him back into a full hug. I didn't really want to talk about this right now, but I can't blame you for not believing me after I misled you about our missions. "I know. I just…you've just got to trust me, chum. Give me another chance, okay? I know I don't deserve it-" or you, for that matter, he kept to himself, "-but let me try one more time. Besides, you've got two witnesses here who will hold me to what I'm saying, and you know I'll have hell to pay if Alfred and Clark both come down on me for breaking a promise to you."
The child's rough inhalations calmed slowly under Bruce's circling palm. "I…I want to know why this is happening," he managed after a long, tense silence. "I w-want to know what Uncle Clark was trying to tell me."
"We can definitely explain that to you."
"But I want to see Gobbles first," the boy pushed himself back to look his guardian in the eye. "I want him to…to know what's happening to him. I want him to hear the story, too."
"…If he's still acting aggressively, chum, then I can't let you near him," Bruce told him hesitantly. "He's already hurt you once today. You know I can't let him do that again."
"It's just a little scratch! Besides, he won't. I know he won't. Please," Dick pled. "You said he only has a…a little time left, right?"
"…Right," the billionaire winced.
"So he should be surrounded by people who care about him, shouldn't he? Even if he's being mean, he's a good turkey, Bruce. He deserves to have his family around him when he…" He hiccupped. "…When he…you know. When it happens."
"He will, kiddo, but...that's part of what we need to tell you. There are four stages to this thing he's got," he explained. "He seems to be in the first one right now, aggression. After this stage is past he'll be very conciliatory, and try to make amends with you and Alfred for trying to hurt you. When he gets to that point, we'll go out and be with him, okay? But until then, I don't want you near him. No one should be within reach of him right now."
"…But how are we going to know when he starts feeling…what did you say? Con…conciliatory?"
"Right."'
"How're we supposed to know when he starts to feel that way – conciliatory – if we're all in here and he's out in the shed?"
It was an excellent point, Bruce had to admit. "Ah…Clark," he struck upon a solution. "Go wait with Gobblehead. Call my cell when he stops trying to stab you with his mouth, and we'll come out."
Dick's mouth dropped open. "…Bruce, that's mean! I thought you said we didn't want Gobbles to hurt anyone else?"
"He won't be able to hurt me," the Kryptonian reassured the boy. "I'll be fine, pal."
"Sure, but that fact doesn't make it any less mean."
"No, young sir, it certainly doesn't," Alfred gave his elder charge a chastising look.
"…What? I came up with a solution, that's all! I'm sorry if he's the only person here who's peck-proof, but that isn't my fault," the billionaire defended himself.
"Your logic wasn't the part that was mean, Bruce," Clark sighed defeatedly as he started towards the stairs. "But it's okay. I'm used to it by now. I'll call you when he reaches stage two."
"…God, you'd think I asked him to chuck himself into a volcano and tell us whether or not it was too hot for comfort," the still-kneeling man griped when their visitor had gone.
Now it was Dick who gave a mildly exasperated exhalation. "You just don't get it," he crossed his arms. "Uncle Clark's your friend. Why are you so mean to him?"
"I wasn't mean, I just asked him to do something to help."
"You didn't ask, you told him to do it. And it wasn't a very nice thing, even if your reason for picking him made sense." The youth paused. "…Is this still the jealousy thing? 'Cause that's really dumb if it is, Bruce."
"…I don't know, chum. Probably. Probably not. It doesn't matter right now, though," he waved the question away. "What matters is that he's doing what I asked so that we can focus on how Gobblehead came to be the way he is."
"I want him to hear it, too, though. Don't tell me anything without Gobbles. I want him to know why he…why he's dying," his voice dropped.
"He will," the billionaire pledged. "I'll just tell you the lead up, things like how the JLA got involved, all of that. Okay?"
"…I still think we should wa-"
"Hold on," Bruce overrode him as his pocket began to vibrate. "…Clark? That was fast," he answered. "Wait a minute, let me put you on speaker…there. Go."
"I might have put on a little extra speed," the disembodied voice coming through the phone said with a trace of guilt. "But it looks like he's past the first stage and into the second. He didn't even try to attack me, and he's dropping mouthfuls of food on the floor at my feet. I can just imagine how he's going to react when Dick and Alfred get here."
"…Turkey hugs," the boy said sadly, wrapping his arms around his midsection and hugging himself.
Kiddo… Knowing that he would get distracted by his son's pain if he let himself dwell on that miserable little murmur for too long, he forced his mind back to the conversation at hand. "…The file said that the animals went after caretakers, right? You're not one of his caretakers. That may be why he isn't going for you."
"Uncle Clark fed Gobbles while you were in Bruges," Dick countered immediately. "And he read to us, too, remember? I think he'd think of Uncle Clark as a caretaker."
"He's got a point, Bruce," came from the speaker. "I did pour food into the trough and then tell them a story."
"…Fine," he grimaced. "We'll come out, then. But if there's so much as one attempt to peck someone, we're going back outside. Understood?" he directed at the child.
"Yes."
"Okay." His finger hovered over the 'end call' button. …Am I really all that mean to him? he wondered. I know I'm not exactly sunshine and rainbows, but I'm not like that with anyone, except maybe Dick. He's just so damnably nice despite all of the power he has…it's disgusting. A frown drew down the corners of his mouth. If that's how I feel, though, then why am I glad that my boy's more like him in the personality aspect than he is like me? Hell… "See you in a minute, Clark," he said grudgingly, then jabbed at the screen. "…Better?" he directed at the youth a second later.
"Much," he nodded with a tiny smile. "Can we please go see Gobbles now, Bruce? I don't want to waste any time…"
"Yeah, c'mon," the man offered his hand. "Let's go so we can put this all out in the open. Alfred, would you grab that file?" he requested, nodding towards the gurney where it still lay.
"Of course, sir."
"Oh," Dick's free fingers flew to his chin thoughtfully. "Can…is it okay to talk about this stuff upstairs? You know…outside of the cave, and outside the house, even? I didn't think about that when I said I wanted Gobblehead to know what was going on."
"Normally I'd say not to talk about night work outside of the house at the very least, but…we'll make an exception in this case," the billionaire judged. "I don't think we have to worry too much about anyone sneaking up on us in a turkey shed. Just in case, though, you should ask Clark to turn his ears up when we get outside."
"Okay," the boy nodded. "That sounds good."
They walked through the hall and out the back door in a tight triangle, Bruce and Dick in front, Alfred close behind them. As they drew up to the low outbuilding that housed the sick bird, the man walking ahead felt the fingers ensconced in his own tighten. "…Are you ready to do this, chum?" he ventured softly. "It's all right if you need a minute." When there was no answer, he glanced down to find the youth staring uncomfortably at the door to the turkey's abode. "If you can't go in," he leaned down to soothe, "you know none of us will think less of you for it."
"I…I know. But Gobbles is my friend," Dick said, squaring his shoulders even though his voice was shaking. "And I'm going to be there for him."
My brave boy, Bruce's face pinched as he squeezed one narrow shoulder. Knowing that passing through the entrance would be the hardest part of the endeavor, he made a suggestion. "…Why don't you let me go first, just in case Clark was mistaken about him being in stage two? I don't want you to get pecked at again."
"Um…would you? P-please?"
"You bet." He let a beat pass, trying to give the child plenty of time to prepare himself. "…Ready?"
"Let's…let's do this."
None of them were prepared for the raucous cry that met them when they stepped inside, nor for the way Gobblehead immediately pelted towards them. Bruce stood firmly between the bird and the boy, arms akimbo. Don't do it, he warned silently. Don't you dare try and hurt him again. I really don't want to have to punch you into next week with him watching, but if you act like you're going to go for him again I won't hesitate.
The creature seemed to sense the billionaire's threat, sliding to a stop directly in front of him and giving a lower-than-usual version of his namesake noise. He tapped his beak on the straw at the man's feet a few times, then craned his neck, trying to see what was behind him. Dick poked his head around his guardian's side, and a low coo emanated from the animal. "…Bruce? Can I?"
"Go ahead," he allowed, muscles remaining tense as the child moved around him. The bird stepped forward too, then gently nudged his owner's stomach with the top of his head.
"…T-turkey hugs," Dick stuttered, fingers lightly grazing the tom's red neck before moving down into his feathers. "Hi, Gobbles." Another apologetic call sounded as the turkey pushed its face towards the bandage around his arm. "It's…it's okay. I know you didn't mean it. I'm not mad at you…" Fat, silent tears began again, rolling down already-chafed cheeks before they were wiped away impatiently. "Gobblehead…um…"
The bird didn't wait for him to finish, however, instead waddling past and going to Alfred. "Your apology is accepted," the butler said quietly as the thing nuzzled his knee. "As Master Dick said, you didn't mean it. I can hardly hold your behavior against you, given the circumstances."
Bobbing his head up and down a few times at the Englishman's absolution, Gobblehead returned his attention to the boy. "Let's…let's all sit down, okay, Gobbles?" Dick gulped. "There's…there's some stuff you should hear about, and me and Alfred, too. Okay? You can sit next to me, if you want."
The turkey did exactly that, following the child over to where Clark was sitting on a bale of fresh hay and then settling down beside him on the thickly padded ground. As soon as they were seated he began to sort through the straw around him, picking up long piece one at a time and turning to offer them to his youngest caretaker. Dick accepted each one, making a neat stack on his leg as they waited for Bruce and Alfred to take up positions nearby.
"Well, pal," the Kryptonian started eventually. "…Are you ready to hear the story?"
"I guess so, Uncle Clark," he shrugged. "Except…I was supposed to ask you to turn up your ears first."
"…'Turn up my ears?'" his brows drew together.
"Yeah. Since we're outside, and this is technically mask stuff?"
"Precautionary measure," the billionaire added gruffly. "Unless you'd rather we tried to hustle the turkey downstairs?"
Clark shot Alfred a reassuring look as the man shuddered at the thought of the extra cleaning a trail of turkey feathers and leavings running from the back door down to the cave would entail. "I'll keep an eye on the outside. Well…an ear, at least. We're all clear for right now, so…Bruce? Maybe you should start this."
Great. Make me the bad guy storyteller. His ire fled as Dick's eyes, filled with anticipatory agony, riveted themselves to his. …Okay, chum, he sighed. Let's see if I can manage to make this a little bit less terrible without leaving anything important out. "It all started about five years ago," he began slowly, "with a phone call that I was not happy to receive…"
Author's Note: I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for reading and for reviewing, and that I hope you're enjoying the story thus far. Happy reading!
