The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Chapter 18.4 (rough draft 2)
All three children instantly shot out into the hall. As the younger two charged away, their brother bit Bruce hard enough to draw blood.
Bruce stifled a curse between his teeth and looked up to find John backing away, staring at him. The instant he took a step in the child's direction, John fled. Although he was obviously making himself a target, Bruce would have picked him to pursue, anyway, especially once they got downstairs. Peter and Jack were headed toward the kitchen, where there was a chance one of the other family members would catch them, but John was disappearing into the opposite wing. That was where the gym and the pool were, with myriad opportunities for an unsupervised child to get hurt, as well as a direct exit onto the grounds. Bruce sped up.
The boy was fast. Bruce just barely managed to block the way to the pool, where it would be a nightmare trying to catch the boy without help. John darted into the gym instead, and now Bruce was praying that he wouldn't knock any weights onto himself. Bruce charged and almost cornered the child, who pivoted and attempted to dart off in a different direction, but Bruce was ready for that and managed to catch hold of the boy's arm just in time. John whirled back. Bruce, both proud that the boy had remembered the hold breaker and guilty that he had to discourage it, barely managed to catch the boy's other wrist in time to stop him.
John gasped and stiffened, his face turned away, looking like he was preparing to endure a beating.
"John. Johnny, listen to me." He moved his hands to grasp the boy's shoulders. John wasn't fighting anymore or trying to run again, but that blank look on his face was awful. "I am not angry. I will not hurt you. I don't know why you ran, I don't know what you and your brothers are up to, but whatever it is, I will not hurt you. It's not safe for you to be in this part of the house alone."
John did not react at all.
"John, I'm going to hold your hand, and we're going to walk to the kitchen to eat breakfast as usual. I am not angry, and no one is going to hurt you."
The boy's gait was slow and uneven, but Bruce knew better than to lose his patience. He matched John's pace and kept a careful grip on his hand, firm but not too tight.
John continued walking like an automaton until they reached the foyer. Then he abruptly yanked hard and swung around, trying unsuccessfully to break out of Bruce's grip.
"John. John. Johnny."
Half collapsed now, John went still and stared up at Bruce in terror.
"...Dick. Listen to me. I am not going to hurt you. I'm not angry. Stand up, and we'll keep walking to the kitchen together. We're going to go eat breakfast."
"...You," John finally used his free hand to sign, "me."
"I will not hurt you."
There was a pause. Then fury suddenly washed over John's face. "You catch me! Bad me! Bad!" Tears were starting to stream down his face.
Bruce knelt so he wasn't towering over the frightened child so much. "John- Dick, I don't know how else to say it. I am not angry, I will not punish you, no one will hurt you."
"...[warble], [caw]...!"
"No one will hurt them, either. Nothing bad is going to happen- ...Well, I promise that nothing bad is going to happen for the next thirty minutes. We will go to the kitchen and eat what Alfred cooked for us." Then he remembered that Alfred was sick and, if he was cooking this morning, he shouldn't be.
John exhaled, still looking miserable but at least a little calmer. "Mm...mmm'nnn. Grandpa."
"Yes, thirty minutes. If Alfred's not in the kitchen, we can still find him to say good morning."
Fresh tears spilled down John's cheeks and he made a harsh bird noise, but he stood up and meekly allowed Bruce to lead him the rest of the way to the kitchen.
Alfred was standing at the stove as usual, but he was wearing gloves and a face mask, and was arguing with Tim.
"I can scramble eggs and make oatmeal, Alfred," Tim was saying insistently. "There are tons of leftovers in the fridge. We're not going to starve if you take the day off."
"I'll go back to bed as soon as I've seen you off to work-" Alfred grunted when John crashed into him with a tight hug. He put the spatula down and hugged the boy back. "Good morning, Master John."
"Good morning, Alfred," Bruce said, approaching. "I'm your employer, and I'm ordering you to go back to bed right now, or you're fired."
"Thank you," Tim said.
"Tim's right. We can get by without a butler for a day or two, and besides, sick people shouldn't be handling other people's food."
"You really are a brat when you put your mind to it, Master Bruce," Alfred huffed. He frowned down at the upset bird in concern. "Master John, what's wrong?"
"He thinks someone's going to hit him," Bruce grumbled, "and he won't believe me when I tell him that's not going to happen."
"Come," Alfred said gently, leading the child to a chair. Tim put on an apron to protect his suit and took Alfred's place at the stove. There was already fruit and toast on the table, which Alfred started coaxing into the boy. John much preferred to just sit there and cling to him, but he did manage an occasional nibble.
Bruce, meanwhile, had his phone out to check the other children's trackers. Peter was hiding in the front hall closet. Jack was more sloppily hidden, peering around the edge of the entryway to watch the people in the kitchen. Bruce set his phone on the table in front of him to keep an eye on while he ate.
Tim finished the eggs, brought the serving bowl to the table, and took a seat beside John. Alfred looked like he was falling asleep in his chair. "Come on, Johnnybird," Tim coaxed, "don't waste my cooking. I worked hard on this."
John slowly reached for a tiny piece of the portion that was set on his plate. Bruce made a mental note to make sure he ate more later, when his appetite would hopefully return.
Alfred finally surrendered and went to bed, after pointing out to Bruce the reward cooler he'd already prepared. John's comfort-seeking grip moved to Tim's jacket pocket. Bruce set up his phone so that it would remind him to check on his sick butler every hour.
Throughout breakfast, Peter stayed stubbornly hidden, but Jack kept creeping out to watch from the kitchen threshold, then would flee, giggling, whenever anyone looked at or spoke to him.
"Jack," Bruce ordered at one point, a little fed up, "come here and eat."
"Hiding," Jack signed with an irritating little smile as if he thought this was all a game.
"Jack, I am-" Bruce glanced at John, who was not looking at him but had gone very still. "...I don't like what you're doing," he finally said, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Jack let go of the edge and started backing away, still with that coy expression, but John suddenly started cawing angrily. Jack, looking chastened, finally came to join his family at the table.
"You don't have much time to eat," Bruce warned. "You'll probably have to finish after- Afterward."
"Please give me eggs, e'ggg, pllease," Jack asked blithely.
When the time came, Bruce stood up. John put his hands over his ears and bowed over.
"Nno sseatbbet!" Jack shouted.
"We are going to practice with seatbelts," Bruce said, hanging the handle of the cooler over one arm, "and then you can finish breakfast and play."
"No!"
John, looking dazed, let himself be tugged out of his seat and led toward the garage.
"No, no, no, no!" Jack complained as he was pulled along. "NooooO! No! I ssay no, Daddy!"
Bruce didn't bother to respond.
"NO, DADDY!" Jack bellowed furiously.
"I hear you."
"Angry angry angry," Jack vented with his free hand. When the car door shut behind him, he plopped on the seat and crossed his arms. "Bbad Daddy."
Bruce set the timer down beside him and exhaled. He looked at his young sons. Jack glared back; John watched him out of the corner of his eye. "...Jack, we are going to use an actual seatbelt this time."
The pout dropped from the child's face, replaced with alarm. "Seatbelt now! First seatbelt then ice cream!"
"Yes. First you will wear a seatbelt, then you will get ice cream." He reached for the buckle.
For the first time all morning, Jack looked at him fearfully. "Nno. No, Daddy."
"Just for a few seconds."
Jack fought him. He whimpered when he lost, pushing hard against Bruce with his hands and feet. He started to cry.
"Jack, look. Look at how you're pushing me, you're using your hands to do that. Your arms are free, your legs are free. You're okay. You are not hurt."
Jack stared up at him, tears still rolling down his face.
"Ten more seconds. Ten, nine, eight, seven..."
"Ffee, ttoo, wwuh," Jack whispered along with him at the end. Bruce unclasped the buckle, and Jack dissolved into sobs. He crawled into Bruce's lap and hugged him tightly, and Bruce hugged him back.
"You're not hurt," Bruce whispered.
Jack wailed for a while, then pulled back, sniffling. "Oo'kkkay?"
"You're okay."
"Bbad bboy?"
"No, you did very well. You were very good. You will get ice cream soon."
"...Ggoo'dd bboy?"
"You were very good. Fifteen seconds wearing the seatbelt, you did very well."
"Ggoo'd jjobb, Jja'ckk, ggoo'd jjob..."
"You did a good job. You did a very good job."
"...Him seatbelt?"
Bruce looked at John, who was curled up and enduring. "...Johnny? Do you think you can try the seatbelt for just a few seconds?"
No response. After a pause, Bruce slid over and gently cupped the boy's face, lifting it. "John," he murmured. "Just a few seconds. You can do it."
John stared at him. When the strap was crossed over his chest, he started to struggle.
Bruce didn't clasp it, just held it in place. "Five," he said immediately, "four, three, two, one." He moved the seatbelt back around to its resting position. "You're finished, Johnny, it's over. You're done for today. Finished."
John was breathing hard, staring into the distance with wide eyes. He knew what the game was now. Master was going to coax them, bit by bit, into tolerating the straps, and when they let him completely tie them down so they couldn't move, he would start to Laugh at his trick and then he'd kill them.
[warble] reached to pat his head. "[chirp-chirp] ggoo'd bboy." He added in bird language, "Danger finished. Safe, [chirp-chirp], safe, I love you."
"Nowhere is safe," [chirp-chirp] responded, and burst into tears.
He wouldn't get out of the car again; Bruce had to lift him out and set him gently on the floor by the cooler. "Ice cream? Ice cream? Ice cream?" Jack asked, in both sign language and verbally, over and over again until Bruce finished unwrapping the little ice cream sandwich and put it in his hands. The child huffed out a relieved breath and bit into his treat.
Bruce crouched to offer the other boy his reward. "John, would you like ice cream or chi-?"
John pushed his hands away. If he couldn't escape Master, then he didn't want bribes, he wanted real comfort. Master wouldn't betray him before the game was over (...probably). Master would keep being sweet and gentle until [chirp-chirp] let himself be completely tied down, but that was never going to happen, [chirp-chirp] would NEVER let himself be tied, so Master would have to get tired of losing the game and get angry first. But that wouldn't happen for a long time. Today, Master would still pretend to be sweet (probably). "Iii...ssowwyy..."
"Do you want me to sing here, or in the living room?"
John climbed on him and clung to him, his weight forcing Bruce to rock back into a sitting position. He returned the embrace. "[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."
John cried quietly. Jack licked the last of the ice cream from his fingers and cuddled into Bruce's side.
"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]"
It was such a short song, Bruce had to launch into "La Vie en rose" again to give John time to stop crying. By the end of it, he was subdued but calm, clinging to Bruce for comfort less desperately. Bruce was pretending not to notice Peter peeking out at them around the edge of the door to the house. "Johnny, let's go to the living room. You can watch videos while Peter does his turn."
Both children stiffened and stared up at him. "Fight Brother seatbelt," Jack signed unhappily. John's face twisted in displeasure, and he retreated from Bruce to hide behind a stack of crates.
Bruce wanted to get the children safely settled before he went to deal with their brother, but Jack wouldn't leave him, and John wouldn't leave the garage. In the end, Bruce set up a Robin Monitor to keep an eye on John while he followed Peter's tracker (the boy had vanished again) and Jack followed him. "Daddy, [caw] ddohh't llike it! [caw] ssay nno, Daddy!"
"I know, but he has to practice. You practiced today and John practiced today, so now it's Peter's turn."
He found the boy and doggedly dragged him back out to the car. Jack ducked to join John behind the crates, and the two of them watched the car door shut.
"Nno!" Peter shouted. "Nno! I hate seatbelts!"
"That's too bad." Inhale, exhale. "Peter, we're going to use the actual seatbelt today, for a few seconds."
Peter stared at him, not quite comprehending but immediately picking up on Bruce's tense body language. Then he saw Bruce reaching for the buckle. "NNOOO! NNOOO!"
He fought savagely. Bruce had to count from five to one close to his ear so he could hear it and at least subconsciously register that there was both a required amount of time and a definite end. The buckle came away again.
The instant he was freed, Peter scrambled to the farthest corner and stared at Bruce with huge, horrified eyes.
"Finished. You're finished for today, Peter. You wore your seatbelt for five seconds, and now it's over until tomorrow."
Peter kept staring at him in disbelief.
"John practiced and Jack practiced. Even though you ran away, you still have to practice, too."
After a long pause, Peter's face twisted. "Bboosse ppackkiss! Seatbelt me, brothers, YOU!" He pounded his fist against the seat in anger.
"...You're right. If you have to practice, then so do I." Bruce put his seatbelt on.
Peter's mouth fell open in astonishment. They stared at each other for a minute, then Bruce remembered to relax and act like this was no big deal (because it wasn't). "I need to start bringing some toys and books for you," he muttered.
Peter's face changed again. His mouth stretched into a Joker smile that made Bruce's flesh creep. His face looked evil - not mischievous or parodic, but genuinely evil. He slunk close to Bruce and put his hand on the man's face, thumb slipping into his mouth, chirring absently in a mixture of bird language and a darkly familiar cadence, What sort of fun shall we have tonight, Angry Bird?
Nausea roiled through Bruce's stomach. Peter was obviously reenacting a role-reversed memory or something similar; the thought of him bound helplessly while that monster had touched him like this, had smiled at him so predatorily, and had done whatever he had done afterward while the child couldn't lift a hand to stop it... Being restrained suddenly felt suffocating.
Bruce ripped off the seatbelt and lurched heavily against the door, just barely stopping himself from opening it. He couldn't spill out of the car in a panic where the other kids could see; he had to set a good example...had to set...the example...
Peter, the Joker expression gone as quickly as it had appeared, stared at Bruce gasping for breath and sweating and desperately clutching at the doorframe. Bruce forced himself to take a few deep breaths, then tried unsuccessfully to reach for the door handle.
Peter didn't seem in a hurry to get out this time. "...You're scared," he realized.
Bruce's first instinct was to deny it, but then he sensed how critical it was that he be honest in this moment. "...Yes."
"Bad Laugh Man hurt you."
"Yes," Bruce whispered. The physical injuries from their fights were insignificant compared to the agony of knowing, or even suspecting, what a version of Bruce himself had done to his children. "Peter, I'm- I don't have the words to express how sorry I am. I would do anything to have prevented your suffering."
Peter lost interest as so many unrecognized words rolled over him. "Ai cceam. Please give me ice cream! I want!"
"Yes, all right." This time, he was able to open the door and compose his face before stepping out. Peter scrambled out after him and bounded over to the cooler, which he clawed open.
John hurried over to him and held him. "Hurt? [caw] hurt?"
"No no no not hurt, I want sweet cold!"
"Sweet cold is very good," Jack agreed.
TBC
A/N: They've seen Bruce wear a seatbelt before, but they were too caught up in their own distress to remember it.