The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Chapter 23.3 (rough draft 2)
Bruce cursed himself for an idiot. He'd wondered why Dick seemed so tired out after just one song, but only as a stray thought in the back of his mind. He'd handed out bottles of water and was discussing a possible playlist with Cassandra, too caught up in his own satisfaction to notice Dick fainting until it was too late to even catch him.
"Dick!" He was instantly on his knees, cradling his son in his arms. "What happ-?!" A hand to Dick's far too warm forehead answered his question.
"Bruuuuce?" Dick mumbled groggily.
Cassandra made a complicated gesture that was like "Dismay/frustration/concern/shock/guilt!" all at once.
"Come on, chum." Dick was too heavy for Bruce to carry comfortably in his arms, so he stood up with the younger man draped over his shoulders instead.
"Dancing," Dick mumbled. "Next song."
"We are finished dancing," Bruce said firmly. "You're going to bed."
"Caaaaasss..."
"Dummy," she said with her mouth, though Bruce could tell from her body language that she felt guilty.
"Cassandra, it was not your fault," Bruce said.
"Dick is sick," she replied
Dick laughed loudly at the unintended rhyme, which made Cass smile and relax a little. Then he mumbled, "Ow."
"What hurts?" Bruce asked.
"Nothing. Dance time," Dick insisted, though his wriggle to be put down was extremely half-hearted.
"Self-assessment, Robin."
Dick hesitated at the old question he'd rarely been asked after becoming Nightwing. "...M' head hurts."
"What about your stomach?" Bruce asked, reaching the top of the stairs. In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have used a hold that put so much pressure on Dick's stomach if nausea was potentially an issue.
"Was okay until you picked me up..."
'Great.' Luckily, they were almost to Dick's room, though Bruce had trouble getting the door open while keeping Dick on his shoulders. He could have managed it eventually, but Cassandra came rolling out of the elevator and got to them first. She reached around Bruce to turn the knob and push the door open. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said, patting Dick's head.
Bruce laid him down and reached to change him into sleepwear, but Dick batted his hands away. "I can do it!"
"All right." Bruce stood back and crossed his arms.
It took more than a full minute for Dick to get his shirt off. He lay there for a while, bare-chested, staring at the ceiling. Then he rolled over and hugged a pillow tightly, hiding his face in it. "G'night."
"Dick, you're going to be very uncomfortable if you try to sleep in those pants."
"Uuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggghhhhhhhhh..."
Cassandra had left by the time Bruce got her brother settled. He was just about to leave as well when Dick grasped his sleeve. "Bruce."
Bruce waited. "What is it?" he finally asked.
Dick wasn't looking at him, his face mostly hidden by his hair and the angle. "...I lost my job. Took too much unapproved time off work." The unspoken 'Dealing with family emergencies, most of them bird-related' part was clear.
Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed. He honestly didn't care whether any of his kids were gainfully employed or not, since none of them were wasting their lives and he was rich enough to always provide for them and their children and probably also their grandchildren. However, he knew how strongly Dick valued his independence, and that the loss of his self-earned income was a heavy blow, particularly on top of all the distress the children had been causing him.
"I'm sorry," Bruce murmured. After a moment, he set a hand on Dick's back and stroked it slowly back and forth.
The young man burst into tears. He pressed his face into the pillow and wept deep, slow sobs that he was obviously trying and failing to get under control.
"It's all right."
Dick still kept crying for a while, the sobs eventually giving way to soft, dispirited wails. "Why can't I do anything right...?"
Bruce bent until his forehead rested against Dick's shoulder, his heart aching in response to his son's pain. "You've done so well. You've been incredibly helpful to me. I-"
"No one wants me! They don't believe me!"
"Dick-"
"No matter how hard I try, I'm never good enough...!"
Bruce, seriously concerned now, looked up and reached for his son's face. "Dick. Dick, stop. Listen to me."
"Aaaaahhhh...!"
"Look at me!"
Dick finally met his eyes, tears and shame and desperation filling his own.
"You are doing a good job," Bruce told him firmly. Dick's face crumpled and he started crying again. Bruce had to speak close to his ear to make sure he was heard. "You are doing excellent work in Blüdhaven - even without my resources and without a partner, which is more than I've ever accomplished. You have done more good for this family than I could ever quantify, you bring us together when we're unraveling, you calm us when we're out of control, you have done more to earn those children's love and trust than I could ever be capable of. You amaze me every day, Dick."
Although Dick still cried, he was quieter now, his fingers curled into Bruce's shirt. Bruce, almost draped over him, waited until Dick finally relaxed a bit before he was able to pull free. He fetched Dick's old stuffed elephant from the dresser and set it on the bed; Dick wrapped his arms around Zitka and buried his face in the toy, looking exactly like John with Elephant.
Bruce stared down at his son for a long time. 'It's hurting him to be here,' he thought heavily. No matter how invaluable Dick's help with the birds was, Bruce couldn't allow him to stay if this was the cost.
He looked up and caught a blur of motion as well as the sound of displaced air. He exhaled and went to the door, where he saw Wally pretending to approach the bedroom at a normal speed. "Oh, hi, Bruce!"
"Wally."
At his serious tone, the young man halted and looked at him a little apprehensively. "I didn't see anything! Just...just the elephant, but I don't think Dick minds-"
"Wally, as soon as he's well enough to travel, I need you to take him to Titans Tower. Don't let him come back until the children are better."
Wally stared.
"We can handle the birds. You came for Dick, not for them, and he needs you and the Titans more than we need him right now."
"...Are you sure? Those kids are...John is...in really bad shape."
"Dick is in bad shape, too."
"Yeah," Wally said sadly, and edged past him. In the room, his body language softened and he went to hug his friend.
"Wallyyyyyyy...!"
"It's okay, bro. You got a lotta people who love you. Everything's gonna work out okay."
Bruce left them alone and went downstairs to check on the others. Stephanie appeared to be dozing in a loveseat, looking exhausted, but almost as soon as Bruce peeked in, she straightened up with a gasp and hurried to the bathroom. Peter continued to watch TV, riveted by whatever cartoon was on the screen. John, who, to everyone's relief, had eaten about half a plate of dinner without throwing it up, was on the floor with his upper body on the couch, head buried in his arms. Damian absently patted him between turns as he and Maya played chess.
The boy looked up, sensing his father's presence. Bruce, not wanting to alert the birds, signed quietly, "Everything good?"
"Yes."
"Need help putting them to bed?"
Damian paused as if it had not occurred to him that he might be put in charge of such a responsibility.
"Stephanie can do it," Bruce said.
"She is tired. Maybe sick? I can lay children on bed, easy."
Bruce hid a smile at Damian's inexperience making him think the task was literal. "They need to bathe and brush their teeth and wear pajamas, and you need to read a book to them. Not just lay them on a bed and put a blanket on them."
Damian's expression grew haughty, which Bruce knew was how he hid embarrassment. "Obviously."
The bathroom door burst open and Stephanie, holding a large towel around her waist, called, "Guys! I forgot my Lady Bag at home and I- Oh, wait!" She leaned back to rummage in a cabinet. Then her face lit up and she victoriously waved a box of tampons. "Never mind, found some!" She braced her arm against the doorframe and shouted, "ALFRED, YOU'RE THE BEST!" to the house in general before slamming the door shut again. Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"For God's sake, woman!" Damian exclaimed, mortified.
Maya was laughing. "I'll see if she needs a change of clo-"
That was when Peter noticed Bruce, and he instantly took off running out the opposite entry from where Bruce was standing. John's shoulders twitched, but he didn't move.
"Dammit," Bruce growled. "Maya, get Peter; I'll see if Wally can help you. Damian, keep an eye on John." Unable to help with the children directly, he went upstairs to enlist the speedster, then, feeling useless, fetched Stephanie's duffel bag from her room and brought it back down. "Stephanie," he called, "I put your clothes out here in case you need them."
"Just panties, thanks!" she called from the other side of the door.
Bruce closed his eyes for a minute. He refused to touch a teenage girl's underclothes. "Stephanie," he said carefully, "I have the whole bag here, you can just get what you need from it."
"Cool beans!"
Cassandra had just wheeled in. Bruce looked to her a little desperately for help. "You, her, secret feminine things; I am LEAVING," he did his best to say in body language, and made his escape.
o.o.o
"Pleeeaaase cooperate, birdies, Auntie Steph is so tired," Stephanie groaned. "And crampy." She, Maya, Damian with his stupid giant wheelchair, and Cass with her own wheelchair she was somehow magically able to keep out of everyone's way were all crowded in the children's bedroom, trying to get Peter to undress and Jack to stop crying and John to not snap his shark teeth at everyone who reached for him. Wally had returned to tend to Dick, and Alfred was looking after the rest of the family.
"Mmama!" Jack wailed, and Cassandra pulled herself onto the bed to cuddle and comfort him.
Damian al Ghul Wayne could wield a sword by the time he was three, learned at least one or two new languages a year, and had earned the equivalent of several college degrees long before meeting his father at age ten. Getting a child or two clean, brushed, dressed, and read to should be laughably easy in comparison. "Go to bed, Brown," he ordered. "This is obviously beyond your capabilities."
"All right, fine," she huffed, stepping back with her hands up. "Let's see you try."
Damian was slightly disconcerted, especially when Maya hoisted John into his lap and said, "It's okay, big brother Damian's got you." John sort of collapsed bonelessly against the older boy.
"Grayson, sit up," Damian ordered, wondering how the child could bear such an uncomfortable position. He had to keep an arm around the boy while he unhooked one small, socked foot from where it had gotten caught in the wheelchair. "Ugh, are you drooling on me?!"
Meanwhile, Maya was coaxing Peter. "Come on, buddy, why don't we take this shirt off, okay? Look, it's got stains from when you spilled your dinner on it. You wanna play with the rubber ducky here in the bath?"
Still fully clothed, Peter dropped to his knees beside the tub and scooped the rubber duck out of the water, making flying and then crashing noises.
"Okay, but you have to do that in the bath, kid, not outside it."
Peter finally pulled off his clothes and climbed into the warm water when Maya added bubbles to it, and Damian managed to set John in the shower stall, get most of his clothes off (it was difficult to undress a deadweight child when he himself was in pain and had limited mobility), and start bathing him as best he could. John shivered from time to time, but appeared to have mentally checked out again. He soon leaned back into a corner of the stall and fell asleep, looking completely drained, and Damian wondered uneasily if it was a good idea to bathe a sick child. "Ducard, give me that towel over there!"
Maya had joined Peter in playing with the bath toys. "I don't follow orders from rude people."
Damian wanted to scream. "Please give me that towel, you insufferable woman!"
She grinned and chucked it straight at his face, and he fumbled catching it because he was still holding the shower head. He turned off the water and wrapped the towel around John as best he could, then backed up a couple of inches to grab another to actively dry him with. John's eyelids fluttered open again and he gazed dully at Damian.
"Grayson," Damian whispered, pained to see a version of his exuberant older brother so blank and dispirited. "...I love you."
John closed his eyes again as if the words meant nothing to him, and that was what hurt Damian the most. The teenager gritted his teeth and finished drying John vigorously, then got another dry towel to wrap him back up in. He managed to haul the boy into his lap and wheeled him to the bed, where Cassandra helped lay John down (Stephanie had left as soon as she'd seen that bath time was more or less under control).
Damian then went to the dresser and started dubiously searching through the drawer labeled 'John Sleepwear.' The sensible pajamas were in the back, obviously not often used; the ones on top and closer to the front were ridiculous, gaudy things with bright patterns and colors. 'Richard loves gaudy, colorful things.' Damian picked out the most obnoxious of the lot and brought it back over to the bed, where he and Cassandra worked together to get the inert child dressed.
About halfway through, John finally made eye contact, only to sign, slowly and clearly, "Please kill me."
"NO, Grayson!" Damian shouted. "Never! Get ahold of yourself!"
John dropped his hands and raised his eyes to the ceiling and checked out yet again.
"Wait- Stay," Cassandra begged, and tears filled her eyes.
Damian shoved away from the bed and yanked out the 'Peter Sleepwear' drawer. He grabbed the first set of pajamas that came to hand and brought them to the bathroom, where Peter was crouched naked on the floor, counting as Maya tried to dry him. "...sssebben, eeeiiigh'tt, nniiine, ttEN! Tten lli'll t'ooooess!" he announced proudly.
"That's right, Peter, I have ten toes!"
"Everyone has ten toes," Damian snapped, throwing the pajamas at Maya, "except for those with polydactyly or oligodactyly."
"He's making sure I don't have poly-whatever or oli-whatever."
"No, he's not, he's practicing his counting!"
"It was a joke, Damian!"
"I KNOW!"
"You don't have to YELL!"
"CROW!" Peter screamed, both angry and afraid, "CROW! CROW!"
"crow!" Jack cried frantically from the bedroom, "crow-!"
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" John suddenly started bellowing, and would not stop, and would not stop, so Cassandra finally dragged him onto her lap and took him away.
Tears smarted at Damian's eyes because he was so bad at this and he hated being bad at things and he HATED seeing his younger siblings upset and he hated most of all that he was the one who had frightened them. He didn't know how to fix it, either, and everyone who did was gone except Maya, and now she was the only one to help him with a frightened, distressed six-year-old who was now dribbling snot and what looked like drops of watery vomit on the bed, and a still-naked eight-year-old who was clinging to Maya and glaring at him.
"Get dressed, Todd," Damian said in exasperation. He looked at the puddle of gross Jack was crying into and knew he was not physically capable of changing the sheets of a king-sized bed right now. He sighed deeply, fetched yet another towel to cover the germ-ridden stains with, and used a damp washcloth to clean the child's face. Jack fussed and tried to jerk away, so Damian had to cup the back of his head with one hand to immobilize him while he worked as gently as he could with the washcloth in the other. "Hold still, Drake, this state of yours is very unbecoming. It was wrong of me to upset you, particularly when you are already ill."
"Mmama! [chirp-chirp]! Ddaddy!"
Stupid eye-stinging. Damian's whisper was barely audible even to himself. "The only one you have is me." Finished, he tossed the dirty cloth aside and gently rested Jack's head on a pillow and then looked a little helplessly at the child, who was now gazing at him with a sad, pleading look. "I don't have anything for you, Drake." There was one more task left to complete before he could put a blanket over the children and leave. "Except a story."
He looked over at where Maya had finished helping Peter dress and was now coaxing him into bed. She danced Dog across the covers invitingly. Peter crouched like a hunting cat and watched avidly, then pounced. "Caught the dog!" he twittered, then enthusiastically scrambled underneath the blankets and sat back against his pillow and hugged Dog, looking at Maya and Damian expectantly.
"He wants a bedtime story," Damian said.
"Which book do you want, little bird?" Maya asked, bringing an armful from the book rack to show Peter. He pointed decisively at Are You My Mother? Maya flipped curiously through the pages and laughed. "We're going to read about a bird to some little birds!" She went back to the beginning and started to read properly, holding up the book so the children could see the pictures.
Jack, for some reason, had latched on to the person he'd just been trying to get away from minutes before. Damian couldn't really move with Jack's fingers clutching his shirt and Jack's head leaning against his chest, but he found he didn't quite mind.
o.o.o
It had taken a long time to calm down John, but at last he was still and quiet again. Cassandra, half-asleep, grew alert when she sensed the child shift in her arms.
John sat up, staring intently at the bedroom door. Cass looked, frowning, but couldn't detect anything of interest. John went to paw at the doorknob until Cassandra dragged herself out of bed and opened it for him. As if drawn by an irresistible call, John drifted down the corridor to Dick's room. He pushed through the half open door and then looked around in confusion.
Dick was curled up on the bed, tucked against Wally, who was absently toying his fingers through Dick's hair with one hand as he used his other to play a cell phone game.
Dick pointed without raising his hand or looking up. "If you start up again, I will kick you out," he mumbled.
John ignored him and went searching around the room, peering into the closet and then out the window.
"You looking for something, buddy?" Wally asked.
John knocked a fist against his own head and made one more half-hearted circuit, then swerved toward the bed and tried to pull Zitka away. Dick snarled wordlessly at him and clung tighter to the elephant. John hissed back, but let go dismissively and turned his attention to the player beside the bed, which was emitting soft calliope music. John put his face right up to it and stared.
Cass, watching from the doorway, finally understood. She had heard the music earlier but had dismissed it as background noise, yet it was important to John. Something about it signified an even greater object of interest which he hadn't been able to find, so now he gave all his attention to the music itself with a mix of frustration, longing, hope, and grief.
Dick relaxed, coming to the same realization. "It makes me feel better when everything's crap," he murmured. "Sorry it's not the real thing, Johnny."
"Mmamma," John said softly. "Ppa'pà."
The breath Dick drew in was sharp and shaky, and Wally's fingers in his hair rubbed soothingly in response.
The track ended, and "The Circus Bee" started. John slowly climbed onto the bed and nestled under Dick's arm, head resting against Zitka. Dick hid his face against John's hair.
"Dick, John, good?" Cassandra asked.
After a pause, Wally smiled at her and said quietly, "I got 'em, Cass."
She smiled back in acknowledgment and went to the children's room for the rest of the night.
TBC