The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Chapter 23.1 (rough draft 2)
Alfred woke up feeling more refreshed and energized than usual, which was a welcome change. He went about his morning routine and then descended to the kitchen, where he found two other earlybirds sitting at the table, sharing fruit from the bowl that was always kept filled on the counter.
"Good morning, Master Peter, Miss Ducard," Alfred greeted.
"Hi, Mr. Pennyworth," Maya said cheerfully.
Peter waved his fistful of brightly-colored loot. "Oowwa'gge!" he announced.
Alfred set a pan on the stove and opened the refrigerator. "Indeed, young master. I'll have something more filling ready for you both in just a moment."
"I found him wandering alone in the hallway," Maya said. "I think everyone else is asleep."
Alfred paused. "...Perhaps several more moments than I anticipated." He set some cereal (relatively healthy cereal, not Dick's sugary rubbish) and a milk carton in front of them to tide them over, then went to check on the rest of the family.
They were, indeed, all sleeping: Bruce still in the cave where Damian and Stephanie had left him, Cassandra bodily draped over John, and Dick curled tightly into Wally's side where they'd both fallen asleep sitting up against the headboard. Almost everyone looked absolutely exhausted. Alfred adjusted blankets, turned off lights, tidied up a bit, informed Wayne Enterprises that neither Bruce nor Tim would be coming in to work that day, and wished he could do more to care for his overworked, stressed-out brood.
He returned to the kitchen and made a proper breakfast for Peter and Maya, then finished cooking for the rest of the household. With the children's help, he laid it all out on the dining room table in warmed pans. "Miss Ducard, thank you again for your help."
"No problem. Hey, Peter, you want to help me feed Goliath? The big red doggie?"
"Rre'dd ddo'ggie~~~!" Peter cheered.
o.o.o
It was a late, slow day. Even the people who dragged themselves out of bed before 11:00 a.m. were subdued and tired, Jack was still miserably sick and fussy, John still would not stay in bed even though he looked like crap and moved like a zombie, and Dick, depressed and uncharacteristically quiet, couldn't seem to let Wally out of his sight for long, almost like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline.
"Whyyyy?" Tim wailed, nearly crying as Alfred changed the bandages on his feet. He was sprawled on his bed in nothing but boxers, sweat beading on his brow and stomach twisting with nausea. "I was fine last night, now I feel like crap again...!"
"There seems to be a bug going around," Alfred explained, sympathetic and a bit guilty. "It was ill luck that you caught it so soon after recovering from the toxin."
"Just let me diiiie..."
"I suppose it was too much to hope that you wouldn't take after your father's and brothers' dramatics," Alfred grumbled.
That earned a tiny smile. "Bruce doesn't whine. He curls up on the Batcomputer and snarls about how much he doesn't love you until you want to leave him alone to die. Uuuuuuuuuggghhhh, I'm starving but I'll puke if I even see anything edible..."
"Let me see what I can do."
By midafternoon, Bruce was still asleep, but those who were out of bed had perked up somewhat. Peter, the only one in actual high spirits, shrieked with delight as he and Dick raced to catch Wally, who was showing off with his super-speed in a modified version of tag. Stephanie was playing pattern and puzzle games with Jack, who moved slowly but seemed interested enough in the activity to be distracted from how awful he felt.
John refused to eat or stay in bed, and insisted on zombie-shambling all over the manor until everyone started taking turns hauling him in a wagon. His vacant stare didn't change, but at least he was hopefully conserving more energy. Although he didn't eat, he would guzzle whatever he was given to drink and then usually throw it back up. Alfred started mixing protein powder and other nutrients into the drinks, hoping that at least some of it would be retained.
o.o.o
Bruce blinked up at the ceiling, irritated by a beeping sound. Someone had laid him in the medbay and taken off his gauntlet so they could stick an IV into him, which was now as empty as was safe (hence the beeping). He must have been really out of it to not remember any of that, but the fluids and the sleep (it was almost 3:00 in the afternoon?!) seemed to have done its job, because he felt much better now.
Grimy as heck, though. He took a much-needed shower and then headed upstairs, checking his tracker program as he went.
He stopped by Tim's room first. "Hey, Tim..."
"Bruuuuce," the teen said miserably. He had a blanket tightly wrapped around his upper body, but his legs and bandaged feet were sprawled out and uncovered by any bedding. His tablet, laptop, and phone were scattered across the bed and nightstands, but all their screens were dark. "Blargh. Everything, blargh."
Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on Tim's forehead, not sure himself whether it was to estimate the boy's temperature or comfort him. Tim closed his eyes and relaxed slightly. 'Comfort,' Bruce decided, and lightly started running his fingers through Tim's hair. "You caught it, too?"
"Blargh blargh blargh."
"When was the last time anyone brought you something to eat or drink?"
" 'Bout ten minutes ago. Steph just left."
"Oh."
"Light makes my head hurt," Tim whined, flicking his fingers resentfully at his tablet.
"Are you bored?"
"I'm busy, but I can't work on anything!"
"Sleep, Tim. Rest so you can get better and be able to return to work sooner."
"Can't sleeeeep. 'M hot and 'm cold at the same time. I hate. Everything."
Bruce hesitated, still stroking his son's hair. Then he decided he didn't care anymore. "[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."
Tim exhaled deeply and was asleep before the second verse. Bruce leaned over to kiss his forehead, refreshed the water in the bottle on the nightstand, then moved on to the next-closest trackers. They were in the birds' room, so he was very, very careful when he peeked in. Cassandra and Jack were sprawled together, sleeping deeply. The boy looked troubled and was breathing heavily, and Cass was very still. Bruce wanted to examine them more closely, but he couldn't risk the child waking up and panicking, so he soundlessly shut the door again.
Duke didn't spend much time in his bedroom, so it worried Bruce that the teen's tracker registered there. He hoped that Duke was studying or something, but his worries were confirmed when he found the kid lying down with the covers all bunched at the foot of the bed, lethargically watching a show on his laptop. "You feeling all right, Duke?"
"Tired," the boy mumbled. He didn't protest when Bruce laid a hand against his too-warm forehead.
"Do you need me to get you anything?"
" 'M fine...don't feel too bad, just super-tired..." Duke sighed deeply. "Too hot to sleep."
Bruce didn't want to set up a fan in case Duke got cold later and wasn't up to turning the fan off, so he went to wet a couple of washcloths in the bathroom.
"Thanks."
"What are you watching?"
"I don't even know...I just hit the first one on the rec list..."
Bruce sat there for a while and watched with him. When he realized that the young man had dozed off, he lowered the volume on the laptop, untangled the sheet from the rest of the bedding, tugged it up to Duke's waist, and left quietly.
By then, he was very hungry, so he went to the kitchen, greeting a relieved-looking Alfred on the way. He warmed up some leftovers and was eating them when Peter came galloping merrily into the kitchen, followed by Dick, Damian, Wally, Stephanie, and Titus.
"Ddink da wwadda an' ssee't jju-!" the boy was babbling, then let out a shriek when he saw Bruce. He halted so suddenly that Stephanie nearly tripped over him, then flung himself back to cling to Dick's legs, shouting in angry, frightened birdsong.
Bruce ignored him and kept eating.
"Everything's fine, Peter," Dick said wearily.
"Kkki'll hhimm!" Peter demanded, pointing, looking to Wally for help. Damian made a wordless exclamation.
"Ummm...well, see, he's not doing anything execution-worthy at the moment...even if I did kill people, which I kinda don't..."
" 'Sup, Bruce?" Stephanie said brightly, plunking down in the seat next to him. She stole a bread roll from his plate and chomped on it. "Feeling better?" she asked while chewing.
"Get your own food," Bruce grunted.
"Glad to hear it!" she said as if he had answered her question. "Back to the grumpy old bat we all know and love." She laid her head on his shoulder. Bruce ignored that, too.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Peter yelled.
Dick actually covered his ears like a child, face pinched like he was about to lose his mind.
"Heeeeyyy, so we came in for drinks, right?!" Wally said a little frantically, zipping around the kitchen. Damian, who'd just been pulling a pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator, protested when he found his hands empty and the speedster filling a bunch of glasses on a tray.
"I was getting it! And do not give the children glass, you fool," Damian said. "There are more appropriate vessels in the third cab-"
whoosh!
"-inet away from the pantry," Damian finished, then rolled his eyes. The tray was now full of wooden cups that were safe for the birds. The instant Wally finished pouring the last of the lemonade, there was another whoosh and then he was carrying the tray to Peter. In the half-second's interim, the glass tumblers had migrated to the counter by the dishwasher and the wooden cups were now garnished with little cocktail umbrellas that Alfred usually used for pool parties (though the manor hadn't hosted one of those since Dick had been in the Teen Titans).
Dick took a deep breath. "Look, Peter," he said in a forcefully cheery voice, "there's a cute little umbrella in yours."
Wally handed a cup of lemonade to Peter, who stared at it for a minute before lifting it toward his face. Dick managed to snatch the umbrella out before Peter could poke himself in the eye with it. The little boy drank down the whole cup while glaring at Bruce. When he finished, Dick plucked the cup out of his hands and replaced it with the umbrella.
For a moment, it looked like Peter was going to be distracted by the delicate little construct, as he inspected it thoughtfully for a second. Then he looked up and squeezed his fist, crushing the tissue paper and paperboard ribs, and marched toward Bruce, the toothpick clenched in his hand like a weapon.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Stephanie scrambled to plant herself in front of Bruce. "No stabbing Bruce with a toothpick umbrella!"
"Bba'dd mman!" Peter insisted.
"Peter, has Bruce done ANYTHING to hurt you since we came to this house?" Dick stormed.
"HA HA HA HA HA! Tie birds in cage hurt arms legs back angry bad man laugh-!"
Dick's mouth started to open, his face full of anger and frustration, but Wally reached him first, spinning him around so they were facing away from the others. He murmured to his friend as Dick hunched tightly into himself.
Wheels sounded in the hall. Stephanie hurried to the entry and managed to warn Maya before she could get close enough for John to see Bruce. "Oh. Okay, but he's asleep."
Everyone was astonished, and they all (except Bruce, who continued shoveling food into his mouth because he needed to finish as soon as possible and get out of here) went to look. John was, indeed, curled up in the wagon, his eyes closed and his breathing noisy but even. Peter took a few steps toward his brother but Stephanie caught him, as Wally signed frantically, "Quiet, quiet, quiet!"
"Sleep, good night," Peter acknowledged. Stephanie took hold of the wagon handle for her turn to haul John around, and everyone else tiptoed away.
TBC