The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Chapter 18.6 (rough draft 2)
They finished up the interview with some pleasant questions about favorite games and books, just to put the children more at ease so they wouldn't wholly associate Bruce's legal team with traumatic interrogations.
When goodbyes were exchanged and the connection was cut, Bruce checked his hunting program. Darcy's computer had been recording audio only, as agreed, but JoAnn's had been capturing video footage of the interview. Bruce knew that she likely had no ill intent and was just trying to do a thorough job while working for a difficult client, so he felt a little guilty as he made sure that her copy of the file was corrupted.
Then he put the matter out of his head and turned his attention back to his family. 'Alfred is sick,' he remembered for about the tenth time. Which meant he was the one who had to carry the dirty plates to the kitchen, where he found two very unhappy animals waiting for him.
The instant he entered the room, Alfred leaped up and started twining around his legs, meowing loudly. Titus had been lying, sadly patient, beside his feeder, but was now up and gazing up at Bruce expectantly.
"All right, all right, just give me a minute..." Except he didn't know where the dog and cat food were kept, and he wasn't about to wake up Damian when the teen needed all the sleep he could get. Bruce had only just opened the pantry door to look for animal food when he overheard the children burst into a squabble in the living room. He hastily dumped some cold cuts on the floor for Titus and Alfred, then hurried back to the kids to find that Peter and Jack were fighting over the TV remote as John climbed a shelf.
Bruce hoisted John off the shelf, put on another show for Peter, gave a remote for a different device to Jack to play with, then went to fetch some daytime clothes to dress his children in. He had to make three trips, because John insisted on the salmon-colored overalls he knew were in his closet rather than the sensible outfit Bruce had brought for him, and his brothers took great enjoyment in pretending to be super-picky about their outfits as well. Bruce finally had to put his foot down, and there was some pouting before the children were finally dressed for the day.
Then Bruce remembered that he had to gather up all the discarded clothes and put them away, because Alfred wasn't available to pick up after them like usual; then he had to clean up all the crumbs the children had spilled during their meal - without a vacuum, because loud noises frightened the birds; and then he remembered that there was a third animal on his property. Thankfully, Bat-Cow had been dry since before her rescue and didn't need to be milked, so all Bruce needed to do was lead her outside to graze and make sure she had fresh water available.
Upstairs again, Bruce closed his eyes for a long moment and exhaled deeply. (It was amazing how stressed out he could still feel even though he wasn't going to work as either a businessman or a vigilante.) Then he looked at the children. "Boys, would you like to come with me to check on Alfred?"
"Ggam'pa?"
He led the way to Alfred's personal suite above the kitchen. The old man was, thankfully, asleep in bed. Bruce rested a hand on his forehead and found it warm.
John cried out in horror and scrambled onto the bed.
"John, don't!"
"crow! Gggamm'ppa, Gggamm-!" John started to cry as he resisted Bruce's attempts to pull him away and managed to get a hand free to shake Alfred's shoulder. Alfred moaned and miserably opened his eyes.
"John, he's trying to sleep!" Bruce hissed. The boy only fought harder, and Bruce had to let him go because there was real danger of Alfred getting hurt by being caught in the middle of the struggle.
"What...is...?" Alfred asked faintly.
"I'm so sorry, Alfred. I don't think John knew you were sick, he's very upset." John was now clinging to Alfred and weeping. His body shifted into a protective pose, and he turned his head a little to glare fiercely at Bruce.
"Ggam'pa ssi'ck?" Jack asked, and Peter worriedly held Alfred's hand with both of his.
"I will...be all right," Alfred whispered, then coughed.
Bruce hurried to the bathroom and then the kitchenette and went through the cabinets - he was rarely in Alfred's sanctuary and not familiar with where things were kept - until he'd hunted down some medicine, a mug of water, and a straw. He brought them to his butler's bedside and asked, "Do you want me to make you some tea?"
"You don't know...how to make tea," Alfred pointed out with a wheezy chuckle.
"I know how to boil water and pour it in a cup with a tea bag."
"Absolutely *cough* not, Master Bruce. If you will please...bring me that box of tissues, however..."
Bruce fussed over Alfred until the old man was as settled as possible. John, still shielding his grandfather with his body, watched Bruce like a hawk and hissed every time he came near. By the time Alfred had everything Bruce knew to get for him, John and Peter were curled close on either side of him, and Jack had started to read him a book. It was a grown-up novel he'd found on a table in the little library, so he was obviously making up the story as he turned pages at random intervals. "...dden Daddy ccome an' he ssay, 'Yyou bbad ssi'ck, ggo awayy!' Da ssi'ck go rrru'nn, Gam'pa ffee, ffeelll goo'd nnow..."
"Are they making you too hot?" Bruce asked.
Alfred hesitated. "If you would per..." He paused to draw breath. "Perhaps turn down the covers...a bit, that might be...a little more comfortable...yes, just leave the sheet, please."
Nothing Bruce tried could induce John to move away from Alfred, and Peter was nervously taking cues from his brother. Jack, though not alarmed like they were, didn't want to leave when his brothers wanted to stay. Bruce eventually fetched things for himself and Jack to work on, as Alfred rested and the older birds kept their vigil over him.
"John, you know I would never, ever hurt Alfred," Bruce said at one point.
"You kill him, I eat YOU not him."
"John, no one in this house will ever eat human flesh, ever. No one in this house would ever hurt Alfred, ever. Alfred is safe here, and you are safe here."
John simply gazed back, obviously not believing him.
Jack worked on lessons until he got bored, by which time Peter, though loyally remaining by Alfred's side, was showing signs of boredom, too. Alfred had fallen back asleep, and John stubbornly continued to guard him.
"...John," Bruce finally said. "Your brothers and I are going to get some lunch. We will bring things for you and Alfred to eat later. John, if I let you stay with your grandfather, you must promise to let him rest, and do not wander around his home, do not touch his things, do not break anything. Do you understand? If you bother Alfred or make a mess or break anything that belongs to him, you will not be able to come here into his suite anymore. Do you understand?"
John glared and crowed softly. When he realized that his little brothers were leaving, he cried out. There was a conversation in birdsong that grew quieter when Bruce scolded them for being too loud. Peter said something reassuring, and Jack pouted. John, tears dripping from his eyes, finally laid his head beside Alfred's and went quiet.
"Why is J-o-h-n upset?" Bruce asked the younger boys, in sign language so as not to disturb Alfred. Although the children had only barely started learning the ASL alphabet, they could now recognize their fingerspelled names if they were signed slowly.
"Protect Grandpa."
"Grandpa will be safe," Bruce replied. "We will leave him alone so he can sleep and feel better."
"Protect Brother protect Grandpa."
"Grandpa is already safe. He does not need to be protected."
"Protect Brother protect Grandpa, no one eat Grandpa; bad!"
Since the conversation was going nowhere and John was being quiet and still, Bruce gave up and led the way down to the kitchen.
His older children where there, leisurely chatting as they scrounged up a meal. Duke was teaching Cassandra something at the stove while Damian made a salad.
"Ccasssie!" Peter and Jack ran to hug her, passing by Titus, who was heading in the opposite direction in hopes that the newcomer would pay more attention to him. Bruce distractedly patted the dog's head.
"Oh, right, I see who the favorite is when Dick's not around," Duke half-teased.
"Ccassie iss hherre!" Jack exclaimed in delight, moving on to hug Duke. "Dd'uke iss hherre! Ddami is hherre! Happy!"
"You are not dead," Peter told his sister, pleased. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed his forehead.
"Where is Pennyworth?" Damian demanded of his father.
"Alfred is ill today, so he's resting. We are going to have to look after ourselves for a day or two."
Damian stared at his father in horror, then abandoned the salad and rushed away to Alfred's suite. Bruce hurried after him, worried that he and John might start an altercation and disturb Alfred.
What he found was John looking undisturbed and Damian leaning over Alfred with a startlingly tender expression on his face.
"Mmm... Master Damian...?"
"You really are ill..."
"I'll be...all right, Master Damian... Was there *cough* pardon me. Was there something you needed?"
"No, of course not. What do you need? Does your throat hurt? Shall I make you some tea?"
"Yes, that would be nice."
'Oh, right,' Bruce thought wryly, 'you'll let him make you tea.' Of course, unlike Bruce, Damian actually knew how to brew tea. 'Because Alfred taught him.'
Damian kissed the old man's forehead. "Rest, Jiddo. I'll bring it-"
Bruce didn't hear the rest because he was busy ducking out of sight. Damian had most certainly not realized he was being watched by anyone other than John if he was using such a term of endearment for Alfred, and Bruce had no business intruding.
Bruce wandered back to the kitchen, where Cassandra and Duke had gotten the children engaged in helping them prepare the meal. It was nothing fancy, just cereal and some warmed-up leftovers, but they all looked happy.
"Boys." Peter and Jack stiffened and went alert at the tone they now recognized as 'I have something to tell you that I know you're not going to like.' "We're going to try something new with your lunch today."
"Nnooooooo!" Peter exclaimed in dismay, on general principle. Jack dramatically planted his face on the table. Duke stifled laughter and Cassandra stared curiously.
"You will not have to ask for your food, and we will not use utensils for lunch; we will use utensils for dinner," Bruce went on. He had gotten the idea from watching Damian filling his pets' puzzle feeders. The birds' manual dexterity had improved significantly, but they still needed some work to catch up to the level they ought to be for their age. It was becoming a higher priority than verbal practice, which they'd mastered by now in the context of requesting food. "For lunch, you have to exercise your hands."
He tried it two different ways to see which seemed to work better for them. Though the children did, understandably, express some frustration that they couldn't stick to the routine they were comfortable with or gobble whatever food they wanted at will, it soon became clear that Peter rather relished getting to rip the lids off of containers in order to get at the food inside ("No teeth! Hands only, Peter. Yes, you can brace it against your chest if you want"), while Jack's eyes brightened with the challenge of delicately picking pieces of food out of contraptions with holes or partitions ("Do not shake it! Hands only, Jack. There; good job"). Though the boys complained loudly at first, they also ended the meal as energetic as if they'd been playing outside.
Then they went to actually play outside with their older siblings, after the family had worked together to clean up (only Duke really knew how to do it, and directed the others with exasperated amusement). Bruce stayed in the kitchen to load a bed tray with Damian's salad, a bowl of food for John, and soup for Alfred (he was capable of warming up canned soup. Alfred would never have stooped to serving such a thing to the family, but he did keep some canned food on hand in case of emergencies).
Alfred was propped against a pile of pillows, looking tired but content between his grandsons. John lay next to him, quietly grooming his hair, as Damian sat in the chair beside the bed and read Great Expectations aloud. His clear voice paused when Bruce came in.
"Lunch. Sorry it's late."
"Oh - I forgot," Damian realized, blushing as he accepted his salad.
"Master Bruce," Alfred murmured, "Master John has...not once left my side." He glanced meaningfully toward the restroom.
"All right. I'll take him in a minute."
Bruce fended off John's angry protests long enough to get Alfred settled with the soup, and couldn't keep all the frustration out of his voice when he ordered, "John, let's go to the bathroom."
John glared suspiciously as the man circled around the bed. Bruce snapped his fingers and pointed. "John, get up now."
He was a little surprised when the boy obeyed, and even more surprised when John took his hand. 'He doesn't want me near Alfred,' he realized when John towed him to the bathroom. The child pulled down his clothes, then shrieked when Bruce tried to step outside the bathroom to give him privacy. Bruce cautiously stepped in again. "Do you need help?"
"...Yysss."
"What do you need help with?"
John didn't answer, just kept glaring as he lowered himself onto the toilet. The sounds of his relief were the only thing to break the silence. They stared at each other, John intent, Bruce uncomfortable. John didn't seem to mind if the man looked away, but he crowed if Bruce so much as shifted toward the door.
After nearly ten minutes, it was clear that John was stalling. "John, I know you're finished. Get up and wash your hands."
John took his time with that, too. When Bruce lost his patience and shut off the water and dried the boy's hands for him, John didn't let go - he clung to Bruce's hands, braced his feet against the floor, and pulled hard in an attempt to keep him in the bathroom.
"John, I am not going to hurt Alfred. I will not hurt Alfred, do you understand me?"
He forced John out of the bathroom; the boy shrieked in furious panic and pushed back. Bruce cautiously let himself be herded around the perimeter of the main living area until John had gotten him to the door.
Bruce looked up at the others. Damian was watching incredulously, Alfred sadly. "Alfred, your phone's right there on the table. Let me know the minute you need anything."
"I'm all right for now."
John pushed Bruce, slammed the door to Alfred's suite, and pressed his back against it, staring.
"John, you are making me angry. I would never hurt Alfred, and the fact that you think I would makes me angry."
"...You eat Grandpa, I kill you. Throat, tear, YUM-YUM." John's eyes were burning with fury as he Joker-smiled.
"You couldn't kill me if you tried," Bruce couldn't help storming, then took a deep breath to regain his composure. "Your brothers and sister are outside. Let's go join them."
TBC
A/N: "Jiddo," according to the web pages I read, means "Grandpa." Apparently there are a million Arabic words for "Grandpa" depending on the dialect and context, so I might have used the wrong one, but you get the point.
There are several canon references to Bat-Cow producing milk, but they are not accurate. She was rescued from a slaughterhouse, which means that even if she had previously been a milk cow, she would have become too old to reproduce and therefore been dry during the entire time Damian has known her.