The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Chapter 24 - Friends
[rough draft 2]
Bruce dragged himself out of bed to get ready for work and go downstairs. No one was in the kitchen except Alfred, who was making breakfast, and Maya, who was slumped at the table listlessly poking at a barely-eaten piece of toast.
"Good morning," Bruce said, a little uncertainly. The others returned the greeting, Alfred polite as usual, Maya in a lethargic mumble. "...Are you all right?" Bruce asked her.
"I'm not hungry. I don't want to babysit today. Or clean. Even if you pay me."
Bruce raised his hand, hesitated, then finished the gesture, resting it on her forehead. It was concerningly warm. "...Maybe you'd better go back to bed."
"Yeah."
He escorted her to make sure she reached the guest room safely. On the way, he caught sight of Wally at the end of a corridor, pulling John in a wagon, but the speedster hastily backed up a few steps and continued on down his own corridor rather than turning into Bruce's. 'Probably for the best,' Bruce thought heavily.
Once Maya was back in bed, Bruce started making the rounds. Tim was a heap of misery, lying very still because he said even just shifting positions was awful. Bruce got him ice chips and medicine and crackers and whatever else he could think of that might help, then just sat with him for a while as an audiobook played. When the boy got very drowsy and stopped making commentary, Bruce moved on, skipping the birds' room because Cassandra was in there with Jack and Peter.
Duke was sitting up in bed, working on his laptop, but didn't feel like coming down to breakfast. His temperature was almost back to normal, so Bruce patted his shoulder and moved on. Dick was fast asleep; Stephanie seemed to be in even worse shape than Tim. "I have cramps and nausea at the SAME TIIIIIME!" she wailed, bent around the heating pad on her stomach and shoving a pillow on top of it so hard it looked like she was trying to stab herself with it.
"What do you...need...?"
"I need to NOT BE SICK, and I need all the insides of my uterus to FINISH trashing themselves already!"
'Oh God.' Bruce did his best to tie her hair into a bun, which she seemed to appreciate, and brought everything on the How To Feel Better During Your Period list that he looked up on his phone. He played a round of cards with her and then cautiously left her watching a movie and nibbling on a bit of ginger root. He went to check on Damian, whose tracker was in the Batcave.
"Are you well enough to be training, Damian?"
"I get out of that damn chair TODAY, Father," the boy said determinedly, hauling himself into another pull-up.
Bruce looked from him to the nearby pair of crutches, then to the wheelchair that had been left askew in the medbay. "Well. Just in case, I will...hnn."
Both father and son ignored each other as Bruce moved the wheelchair close enough to the crutches to be within fairly easy reach, but far enough away that it didn't serve as a silently insistent form of communication. "Have a good day, if I don't see you before I leave for work."
"Yes, goodbye, Father."
Bruce finally went up to grab a quick breakfast and the packed lunch Alfred had made for him before leaving.
o.o.o
Duke was feeling well by that afternoon, so Bruce left work early to take him motorcycle shopping, since there was also a Justice League meeting to fit in before patrol. Batman arrived at the Watchtower a little early for the meeting but later than usual, since everyone but Flash was already there.
Wonder Woman was chatting with Jessica while they waited, and Cyborg was showing a hologram to Superman and Simon. Aquaman was arguing with someone on an Atlantean communicator. Batman stalked straight past them all without a greeting, heading for his usual work station.
"Hi, Batman," Clark said pointedly.
Bruce had intended to ignore him, sit down, and start working, but he was brought up short by the new decorative additions. The photo board on display had always contained mementos of past successful missions, including various members of the League posing with some of the people they'd rescued. Every work station was adorned with photos, art, or keepsakes (even Bruce, who refused to allow photos of his family out of costume anywhere near superhero business, kept a picture next to his computer of Dick, a slightly embarrassed Tim, and a grumpy Damian all posing together in Robin costumes, with Dick's bad drawing of Jason as Robin taped to the end). He was used to seeing pictures in the Watchtower of Clark's adoptive parents, Lois and Jon Kent, the kids Victor volunteered with, various incarnations of the Teen Titans, Dick and Wally in their younger days, Simon's nephew, even a photo Clark kept by his computer of young Dick as Robin proudly posing with Superman.
He hadn't expected to see a picture by Barry's station of three sleeping birds nesting on a practice mat, with masks photoshopped in; or one of Peter's drawings taped above Diana's desk, or a photo of Jack styling Jessica's hair on the Lantern's. Next to a picture of the Kent family, there was a new one of John touching the S on Superman's chest as Clark smiled at him fondly. The relaxed, gentle expression on the boy's face made Batman's heart hurt.
"Bruce?"
Batman whirled on them before he was even aware of what he was doing. "Did I give you permission to plaster pictures of my children all over the Watchtower?" he snarled.
Flash, who had literally just stepped out of a Zeta-Tube and was about to call a greeting, lowered his arm as the smile dropped off his face. "We hid their identities," he said tentatively.
"You had no right!" Batman stormed around as he spoke, seizing photos of the birds and crushing them in shaking fists. "They're my children, they've suffered enough, they don't need any more scrutiny or any villains discovering their existence, if you've endangered them again I will make you regret ever-!"
"BRUCE!"
Batman glared at Superman and Wonder Woman, seething. They were facing him with hard stances he really, really did not like. It was the kind of body language they got when they were about to get in his way because of an ideological disagreement, the kind of situation that always made Bruce feel so disappointed and alone. Cyborg's face had gone expressionless, Flash looked extremely uncomfortable, and both young Lanterns outright frightened. Aquaman had his arms crossed and looked like he was on the verge of losing his own temper.
"Bruce," Diana said, her gentle, compassionate tone even worse than Clark's insufferable commanding one. "It is not these pictures that distress you. What's wrong?"
He stormed past them into a Zeta-Tube. If the team was going to be stupid and useless, he couldn't stand being in their presence long enough for a meeting.
He heard the Tube activate behind him, but ignored it. He strode to the Batcomputer and savagely hit a string of keys. Screw the League; he had plenty of his own work to do.
Superman and Wonder Woman let him be for about five minutes, then Clark asked softly, "How are the kids doing?"
Bruce flew out of his chair again and whirled to face them. "You want to know how they're doing?! You want a status report? Fine, I'll show you, but let me hide the Bat first," he spat, starting to strip out of his suit, "so I don't terrify the birds into throwing themselves off the manor roof."
"Throwing themselves- What?!"
Superhero identities shed, it was Clark Kent and Diana Prince who followed in Bruce's wake when he transitioned from the cave to the manor. Bruce didn't bother to hide his angry footsteps, and he heard Peter flee before he even reached the living room.
Damian looked startled at the state of his father when Bruce came looming into the entryway. John leaped up and ran to seize the fireplace poker for a weapon; the cat raced out of the room, and Titus whined fearfully as he backed into a corner.
"Superman and Wonder Woman want to know how you're doing, John," Bruce thundered. "How are you doing? Have you stopped dissociating and asking people to kill you yet?" John backed away as Bruce advanced, looking fully ready to do battle; Bruce kept out of range, probably the only reason the boy hadn't lashed out with his weapon yet.
"Bruce, stop it, you're scaring him," Clark said angrily.
"Have you eaten today?" Bruce demanded of John, ignoring the Kryptonian. He felt two sets of unfairly strong hands grab him. "Don't bother answering, I know you haven't eaten since last night." He strained to break free, but his so-called 'friends' were restraining him in earnest now, and he might as well have been weak as a kitten for all the good it did him. 'Damn metas.' "I told Alfred to text me every time you ate, but he hasn't sent me a single fucking text this whole day, John Grayson. How are you still standing? Are you getting all your energy from sheer hatred of me right now?"
John made no attempt to respond. He didn't even look frightened; he simply stood there clutching the poker in readiness.
"Father?" Damian said. He was the one who sounded frightened.
Then Alfred's voice, absolutely livid, demanded, "What is going on here, Bruce?"
Bruce jerked and this time, probably since he was aiming in the opposite direction, his captors let him go. He stormed out the back door and marched away, past the gardens and into the trees, farther and farther, having no destination in mind.
He marched for about fifteen minutes. Then he sat on a log and put his elbows on his knees and folded his hands and rested his forehead against them. He felt them settle down on either side of him: Clark and Diana, who had silently kept pace with him all this time.
Several long minutes passed. After a while, Bruce realized that he was going to lose the battle against his tears, so he wanted the metas gone before they could see, but he couldn't tell them to leave because if he opened his mouth or raised his head, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from crying. He struggled on, managing to keep silent through sheer force of will, but that was all he could manage. The first tear slipped down his cheek, and thank God his face was already hidden.
Another followed it, and another, and he slowly spread his hands down his face, surreptitiously clearing the tears. Except they kept coming, and kept coming, then Clark's arm was moving across his shoulders and Diana's around his waist, and at the warm, gentle support of their touch, he couldn't hold back the sobs anymore.
Completely ashamed, furious at himself, he wept into his sleeves, wanting so badly to tell the damn aliens to fuck off so they'd stop seeing him cry, but of course he couldn't say a word because he was too fucking busy crying.
And then it went on so long and he'd made too much of a fool of himself that there was no pride left to protect anymore, so he leaned into Clark and stopped fighting his grief. Clark's arm tightened and his cheek leaned against Bruce's hair; Diana's other arm came around to join the first and the weight of her head resting on his shoulder was comforting.
At long last, he managed to say, "They hate me."
No one said anything for a long time. Tears finally spent, Bruce said, quietly but more clearly now, "John hates me so much he wants to die. He wants to die."
They finally straightened up again, just when the weight had become more confining than comforting, though they didn't break the embrace completely. "Why didn't you tell us?" Clark murmured. "We would have come sooner."
"It happened Tuesday night...they saw me as Batman. John has never trusted me, but now they think I'm the one who Laughs. They think I'm the one who fucking whipped them, who pumped them full of toxin and welded those damn masks to their faces and fed them human flesh- They won't believe me. They think I'm him. They won't believe me."
"I could use my Lasso, if you are willing."
"They refused to believe Dick, too."
"Ah. Never mind, then."
"If Laughs was a dark multiverse version of you," Clark said slowly, "he probably had a dark multiverse version of Wayne Manor. If the boys...are living in a version of the same house they...spent some unpleasant time in..."
Bruce bowed his head. "We could move to a different home, but what's the point when they hate me even more than the manor?"
"I'm sure a break couldn't hurt, at least. Would you...like me to take them to Metropolis this weekend?"
Bruce was silent for a long time. "Clark...or you, Diana...I could never entrust my children to foster care, but if you could...would you...?" His question hung unfinished.
"Let's see how the weekend goes for now," Clark said softly. "I'll call Lois."
o.o.o
It was dark by the time they returned to the house; everyone who wasn't sick was in the middle of dinner. The minute Bruce showed his face, Peter clung to Alfred. John stood up from his barely-touched meal and grabbed the closest two forks to wield in his little fists, all without changing his tired expression.
"I just came to apologize," Bruce said, gruffly but loudly. "Peter, I'm sorry for scaring you, and John, I'm sorry for threatening you."
No one moved or spoke, though Alfred's face relaxed slightly.
"...Clark has offered to let the children stay with his family this weekend." He looked at Alfred, who nodded in acknowledgment of the need to pack.
"I will accompany them," Damian said softly.
"What about Jack?" Duke asked. "He's still sick."
"We'll see how he feels tomorrow."
There was a pause, interrupted only by a quiet crow from John and then a "Ggo awway!" from Peter. Bruce left.
TBC
A/N: Having simultaneous cramps and nausea is truly horrible. DX
Clark & Diana comforting a weeping Bruce was going to be in a one-shot I meant to write as an epilogue to "Dark Nights: Metal" (conceived before the canon story arc ended), but I might never get around to writing that fic, so I recycled the story seed here in TBWS instead.