The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Chapter 20.2 (rough draft 2)
Dick had pulled around to the garage rather than the cave. Jack was practically glued to his side and crying, Peter was hunched in a corner pretending he wasn't crying, and John's eyes were empty of life. "Okay, come on, kiddos. Here, try holding hands, there we go..."
"I-I...dohh't...wwann't," Jack choked out, "hhurr't mmy nne'ck, Ddickie, hhurr't mme, I dohht wann't to..."
"Nobody is going to hurt you, baby bird. Nobody is going to hurt your neck, or any other part of you."
"Bba'tmmann," Peter hissed, "Bba'tmmann, ha ha ha ha ha!"
"No. Our Batman and the Batman Who Laughs are two different people. They are not the same person, because Laughs is dead and Bruce is alive and loves us."
On and on it went, all the way to Dick's room, the younger children clinging to his hand and John silently drifting along with the other like a balloon on a string. Over and over again, Bruce will never hurt you, the Man Who Laughs is dead, I will keep you safe and He's Batman, he will hurt us, we will Laugh and we're so scared...!
'Does Bruce have to go through this all the time?' Dick wondered, frustrated by the children's complete refusal to believe him. He headed straight for his bathroom, let go of John's hand, and gently tried to disentangle his other hand from the children's tight grip. As soon as Peter and Jack lost their hold, they scrambled to slam the door shut. "Baby birds, I love you and you're safe, but I need to get clean and patch myself up. Give me maybe ten minutes or so, okay? Just ten minutes."
They couldn't bear to let him out of their sight, even when the only thing between them was a shower stall door, and Dick didn't want them in the stall with him when he was so preoccupied with not aggravating his wounds. He ended up solving the problem by singing, offering enough of himself across the thin divide that they were able to tolerate not seeing him.
"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."
Joker laughter put a stop to it. Dick, afraid that something had gone wrong, tried to open the stall door without hitting one of the kids.
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" John bellowed wildly, tears slipping down his face as he stood naked by the door. "HA HA HA HA HA...!"
"All right, Johnny, I'm getting out, I'm getting out, please stop..." He wrapped a towel around his waist and tried to comfort John, but the boy started screaming when he saw the blood from Dick's newly-cleaned wounds starting to smear over both of them.
"Aaagghh, I am so not up to this...!" He focused on bandaging himself instead. Jack came to cling to him as he worked, and the older boys pulled everything out of a set of lower cabinets so they could shut themselves in.
Once Dick wasn't bleeding anymore, he exhaled and looked at Jack, who tipped his head up to pin Dick with the most heart-melting puppy eyes in the world. "I swear, Jackie, I'd probably do anything for you right now..."
"Kkee'p mme ssa'ffe," Jack whispered.
"Baby bird. There is nothing to be afraid of. There is nothing to keep you safe from, because there is nothing threatening you."
The puppy eyes did not abate.
Dick breathed deeply. "You know what, I see some little feet that need attention." The children had not put on shoes or socks before leaving the house. Dick led Jack to the bathtub and moved the chair over so Jack could sit on it with his legs resting on the tub's edge. Dick himself took down the shower head and pulled up a stool so he could clean all the dirt and dried blood from the little boy's feet and bandage the cuts. He also bandaged the other injuries the little boy had picked up over the course of the evening. "Does that feel better, Jackie?" Jack simply crawled into his lap.
"Mmy ttuhnn!" announced Peter, who had come out of the cabinet to watch with great interest.
"That's right, Petey. Sit down and I'll get you fixed up, too. Hey, babiest bird, I can't work on your brother when you're in my lap, okay? ...How about you get behind me and hold onto my shoulders instead?" When he was done, Peter chirred in satisfaction and held up his feet to admire. "Aaaaand last but not least..." Dick gave gentle warning before opening the cabinet. John was curled up inside, his arms over his head, and did not move even when Dick called to him. "Johnnybird, I promise you're safe. Come out and show me your feet, I bet they're not very happy right now."
John neither obeyed nor resisted. Dick had to physically pull him out, set him in the tub, and then dry him off and dress him after getting his feet taken care of. Since Dick hadn't had time to fetch anything from the children's room and they did not allow him to leave his own, he didn't have anything to put them in except T-shirts from the back of his closet that were huge on the boys. Peter, in a Wonder Woman shirt and little else, started to inspect the room; John lay limply on the bed in a tie-dyed shirt Dick had made when he was thirteen; and Jack, tense and anxious, was practically swallowed by a first-generation Teen Titans shirt.
Dick, completely exhausted, sat on his bed and leaned against the headboard. Jack immediately crawled over, getting tripped up a bit in his giant shirt, and attempted to burrow into him. After a minute, John lethargically followed.
It was quiet for a while, except for the soft noises Peter was making. "Guys," Dick finally said, "it's okay. Everything is super very much okay. So we're all going to have a nice long nap, and then feel better when we wake up and have something yummy to eat, and by then we'll have forgiven Bruce for being big and liking to wear black, right?"
"Bbat'mman," Jack whispered. "Hhello, Cllleber Bbird, di' you mmiss me? We ggonna hab llotsa ffun, ohh yyess, ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha-!"
"No," Dick snapped. "No, no, that man is DEAD. The only Batman we have left is a nice one who loves you. Bruce loves you and would never hurt you."
"He is very stupid," [chirp-chirp] remarked to his smallest flockmate.
"[chirp-chirp], Master will kill us, he will kill us!"
"Hush. Wait until [big chirp-chirp] is asleep, put on a leash, make one side heavy, fly with the other. Neck hurt QUICK, [snap], then safe safe safe from Master."
"No, [chirp-chirp]," [warble] wept. "No, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, please keep me safe!"
"[warble]," [chirp-chirp] told him gently, "there is no safe alive. Master very much LIES. He say 'safe safe safe' so that when danger comes, it hurts even more."
"But...Daddy..."
"No Daddy. Only Master."
[warble] cried some more. "I don't want to die...!"
"I am very tired," [chirp-chirp] murmured. Tired in his soul, he meant.
Dick, meanwhile, was tired in body. He'd checked his phone and then dozed off in the middle of all the twittering, and now jerked awake when his phone buzzed with a call from Bruce. "Hey."
"Should I...stay away for a while?"
Dick looked at the birds, who would certainly not be pleased to see their guardian, but it wasn't like they and Bruce could hide from each other forever. "Maybe...stop by and see how it goes?"
"...All right."
The knock on the door, soft as it was, made all three birds tense and sent Peter racing to join his brothers. When Dick got up, they clung to him and begged him to stay. When he insisted on disentangling himself and going to answer the door, the children hid.
Bruce cautiously looked around. "I think they're under the bed," Dick sighed.
"...Strategically sound," Bruce noted heavily. With the only exit blocked, the children had a better chance of eluding capture underneath the bed, rather than limiting their options by fleeing into an enclosed space such as the bathroom or closet.
Dick rubbed at his face. "I don't know what to do with them."
Bruce carefully got down on the floor and surveyed the situation underneath the bed. The children, staring at him in terror, started to move back, though Peter hissed and nudged them over when they got too close to the other edge. 'In case Dick acts as my ally and tries to grab them from that side while they're distracted looking at me,' Bruce realized, admiration mixing with exasperation. "Boys," he said, "I will not hurt you. I only came to see if you're all right."
As expected, there was no response, and he finally stood up again. "Try to get some rest. I'll have my phone close, don't hesitate to call."
"This is ridiculous... How did this even happen? Why are they so freaked out?"
"...It was my fault."
"You know what," Dick suddenly snapped, "I don't want to know. Just get out of here, I'll handle it."
Without a word, Bruce left. He moved down the hall with the odd sensation of being disconnected from the world. His thoughts moved from person to person, each member of his patchwork family without whom he truly would be a solitary creature of the night. One was sick, another was preoccupied; this one was injured, that one was also injured; rejecting, out of reach, busy... 'I want to go down and work in the cave. I want to be in my cave or hunt down those who hurt people. I want to burrow or fight, I don't want to see anyone I love ever again.' He hurt everyone he tried to love. They all hurt him, too, so deeply that sometimes he didn't want to be Bruce Wayne at all anymore, only Batman.
Only Batman. Crafted from darkness since the dawn of time to be my vessel and drag the whole multiverse into darkness-
Bruce took out his phone, mentally flipping the middle finger to Barbatos. He needed some light, he didn't want any right now but he needed it, and his options at the moment were limited. He was halfway through calling Barbara before he realized that he'd recently hurt her, too, cutting her off when she'd tried to help.
She answered before he could hang up. "How may I be of service to you?" she asked coolly, her tone making it clear that she was probably going to cut ties again if he asked any favors of her.
Fortunately, he'd only called her to hear the sound of her voice. "I just wanted to let you know...everyone's home, and safe. A little worse for wear, but they'll be all right."
"I know. Dick answered my messages."
"Hn."
"..."
"..."
"So why did you really call me, Bruce?"
"That was it. Just...to tell you they're safe." A pause. "I have time to explain now."
"No need. Ivy and Two-Face threatened Gotham, you had to call in the cavalry, and your new Robins got caught in the crossfire."
"...They're never going to trust me again, Barbara."
"Bruce, it just happened. Give them time and patience, they'll bounce back. As long as you don't screw up. ...Which is asking too much of you, isn't it."
"I would...I would fix it if I could, but they won't let me near them, and Dick...he's tired, Barbara. He never asked for this. I can't heap the entire responsibility on him, but I don't know what else to do. Cassandra's injured now, the others have their own lives to live, I...I don't know..."
After a while, she said softly, "You know I can't adopt three kids, Bruce, but short of that, is there anything I can do?" She meant it this time.
Bruce went still. "Actually...I'm going to be looking into it myself, but if you wouldn't mind... I'd appreciate it if you could help me locate Jason."
"He didn't show tonight?"
"His tracker's been off, and he didn't respond to the alert at all, even to refuse to help. I haven't heard from him in a while even before this. I'm...concerned."
"It's probably nothing, but I'll definitely look into it."
"Thank you, Barbara."
Bruce resumed walking after the call ended, heading for Alfred's suite and remotely activating the manor's security system as he went. When he paused to turn the kitchen light off, he found that the room wasn't empty - Duke was sitting at the table with a bowl of melting ice cream, crying quietly.
"Duke-"
The teen, head ducked to hide his face, abruptly swept the bowl into the sink and tried to escape, but Bruce managed to get to him in time. "Duke, I'm sorry, I-"
"I'm...sorry," Duke choked out. "I..."
"Duke, come here. I'm sorry, it was my fault, I shouldn't have-"
Duke burst into a fresh wave of tears, unable to fight them anymore, and stood there in Bruce's arms simultaneously pulling away and curling into him.
"I'm sorry," Bruce said again when the boy had quieted enough for a murmur to be heard.
"I screwed up..."
"No, no, you did a good job-"
"No," Duke wailed, one hand fisting against Bruce as if he couldn't decide whether to push away or cling, his other arm bracing against Bruce's shoulder so he could press his face and the newest tears against it.
"I am so proud of you," Bruce told him firmly, terrified that if he let go, he would never get this one back, either.
"No...no...!"
"You did well. Your first time solo behind the screens during a supervillain attack, a double supervillain attack, you did just what any of us would have done-"
"They got hurt...b'cause of me..."
"-you went after the children when none of us were able to, you saved Tim, Duke, he would have been crippled or died if you hadn't enabled me to go after him-"
"Couldn't find them..."
"-your help has been invaluable-"
"All my fault-"
"DUKE." Bruce forced the teen to meet his eyes. Probably shouldn't have shaken him, though. "Stop. I am the one apologizing to you, because you did everything right and it's my fault that things went wrong."
There was a long silence.
"I'm sorry," Bruce finally said, "and when I say I'm proud of you, I mean it."
Duke slowly wiped his eyes.
Bruce tried to be more gentle this time when he set his hand on the young man's shoulder. "I've been taking you for granted for a long time, Duke. I haven't told you how much I've come to rely on you, how much work you've done that I can't turn to anyone else for. I'm so grateful you're here - I'm so grateful you're here, Duke, in this house, even if you had nothing to do with Bat business."
Duke looked away and scoffed quietly. Bruce had to force himself not to shake his shoulder again in an effort to convey his sincerity. "Duke...this house gets lonely. My children...they keep growing up and leaving me, because that's what children do, and I know that you're probably going to leave soon because you're a man already, eighteen or not...but it's been a privilege to be your guardian, and it's been wonderful having you here. It will be wonderful to keep having you here for as long as you're willing to stay. Just hearing your voice, knowing you're around, it's been...good. You and the others...you're the ones who remind me why life is worth living in the light."
Duke sniffed and took a few steadying breaths. "I...forgot. I just...forgot about the kids, I didn't even notice they were gone until the tracker alarm went off."
"Duke. I forgot about my own children long enough to parade in front of them dressed like their torturer. I'm the reason they ran."
Duke sniffed again. "Yeah...you suck," he whispered, his smile incredibly fragile. He allowed Bruce to draw him into another hug, this time a gentler, one-armed one.
"I'm sorry I shouted at you," Bruce murmured. "I'm sorry I blamed you for things that weren't your fault, and for not acknowledging your work. Thank you for running the computer for us tonight, and for going after the little ones, and helping me with Tim and the others."
"And for being awesome," Duke prompted almost inaudibly, looking at the floor.
"And for being awesome."
Duke fidgeted a little. "I was joking..."
"I wasn't."
There was another long silence, this time a more comfortable one. "Duke," Bruce finally said.
"Hm?"
"I have been taking you for granted." 'Still, after making that mistake with every single one before him.' "...Will you be offended if I ask you what you want me to buy you?"
Duke barked out a laugh. "You trying to buy me off?"
Bruce ran a hand through his hair in frustration, having learned from experience to expect this sort of reaction. "I don't know why no one ever believes that I like spending money on the people I care about. I like being rich enough to afford almost anything my family could want, yet none of you ever ask me for anything..."
Except Damian, but the boy usually asked for things he shouldn't have, like an assassin's armory or various unusual pets that would ultimately cause more unnecessary work for Alfred. Jason had always loved receiving books, but had a hang-up about being gifted with too many at a time, and had treated everything else Bruce bought for him with suspicion or scorn. Both Dick and Cassandra had always been discouragingly unimpressed with almost everything Bruce gave them, preferring non-material expressions of their father's affection. Tim had been exasperatingly self-reliant from Day 1; Alfred seemed to see store-bought gifts, at least from Bruce, almost as an insult; Clark reacted to anything Bruce bought for him as if it was either pretentious posturing to be pitied or rich boy ignorance to be laughed at; and the only gifts that seemed to hold any meaning for Selina were ones he'd had to arrange for her to steal. It was as if they all purposely conspired to devalue the form of love Bruce felt most comfortable expressing.
After a moment, Duke mused, "It'd be nice to have my own motorcycle."
"I'll get you one," Bruce said immediately, relieved. "In your Signal colors, so you can take it on the job."
Duke considered this.
"And another for your civilian life," Bruce added, realizing what could be giving him pause. "If you want. Just make sure your license is in order."
"...Will you take me to pick it out?"
"Yes."
"And not be a control freak about what I like?"
"I will not make any attempt to influence your decisions."
"Okay." Duke held out his hand. "If you buy me two bikes, I'll keep being your obligatory underage companion."
Bruce's mouth twitched in a mix of amusement and embarrassment, and he grasped the teen's hand. "Deal." Duke went up to bed looking like a weight had fallen from his shoulders, and Bruce continued on to check on his butler.
Alfred was sleeping well, and his forehead at last felt cool to the touch. Bruce tidied up a little, procrastinating. When he realized that he simply didn't want to leave, didn't want to go back to his empty room where he almost certainly wouldn't be able to sleep, he carefully lay down on the bed beside Alfred. He hesitated a moment, then laid the older man's arm around his own shoulders, glad that although Alfred stirred, he didn't wake.
Then he just lay in the dark for a long time, remembering. All he could see in his mind were the birds' little faces. Peter's fear and hatred were bad enough, but he'd endured the rage of his children before. It was Jack's betrayed despair that made him sick, and the dark void in John's eyes, that he would literally rather die than be with Bruce. 'But I'm...not Laughs...'
Self-loathing warred with frustration. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't his fault, he loved his children more than he could stand and he would never deliberately hurt them. Yet...there was a world, there was at least one dark, cursed world where a version of him had done just that. 'What did he do to them, that they would look at me that way?' Each scar on their small bodies had a horrifying story behind it, and there were so many, so many scars...scars upon scars in some cases, chafe marks and lash marks and burn marks... If he could take away the pain those marks represented by killing himself, he would, but what had been done was done-
'Zatanna could erase their memories,' he thought suddenly. He knew it could be done, because it had been done to him. He'd been so angry when he found out, but he hadn't been hurt as deeply as his birds had been. They might want to forget their past.
'To enjoy their love and their smiles when they have no memory of what your other self did to them, how is that not just as terrible a violation as what was done to you?' The scars would still be there, on their bodies and on their souls. 'And when the day comes that they ask their father why their skin isn't smooth and whole like it should be, what will you tell them? How will you explain why they can't remember? How much of a monster will it make you to look into their innocent eyes and lie to them about themselves?'
No memory erasure, then, unless they chose it for themselves in adulthood. He would have to earn their trust again the hard way, because it was the right way. ...Or he would have to give them up, to guardians who could give them the security they might be incapable of finding with Bruce.
'I can't...' Just finding someone suitable was nearly impossible. Even if there was someone both worthy and able, the thought of actually doing it, of placing his little ones into someone else's arms, packing their things, sending them away, signing papers to relinquish any claim to them, never speaking to them again... 'I can't...!'
By the time he fell asleep, there was a damp patch where his face rested against Alfred's nightshirt.
TBC