The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Chapter 26 - Gallery
[rough draft 2]
John and Jack slept late, past eleven in the morning. By that time, the others had eaten breakfast, Damian and Jon had taken Peter down to the apartment building's playground on the ground floor, and the adults were both doing housework in between making phone calls for work.
John awakened first, but the Kents didn't notice because he just sat there, blank-faced and unmoving, blankets pooled around the lower half of his otherwise still-unclothed body. It only became apparent he was awake when Jack opened his eyes, popped upright, and exclaimed, "I hhungee!"
"Oh! Hey there, buddy. Oh, Johnny's up, too!"
"What would you boys like to eat?" Lois asked, opening the refrigerator. "Leftovers from breakfast, or do you want to just get straight to lunch?" She and her husband were both disconcerted when Jack stripped off all his clothes and came trotting into the kitchen.
"Whoa there, uh- How about we get some clothes on you, buddy?"
"Yyucky," Jack said, unconcerned, trying to climb onto a chair.
"Oookay, how about this," Clark said, bringing over a blanket to cover the boy in the meantime, "you eat a cinnamon roll, then get dressed, and then you can have the rest, okay?"
It turned out that Jack had cast off his clothes because they were uncomfortable with dried sweat - his fever had finally broken. Once he had eaten his cinnamon roll and bathed, he was quite happy to be dressed in a fresh outfit. John showed zero interest in getting dressed, but at least he didn't resist when they maneuvered a clean set of clothes onto him as well.
"There we go, isn't that much better?"
"..."
By then, the other boys had returned. Damian, seeing John sitting motionless next to his untouched meal, got down on his knees in front of the boy's chair, bringing the plate with him. He cupped John's cheek gently with one hand and fed him piece by piece. They gazed at each other the whole time, serious and silent, and John finished nearly everything on his plate before he abruptly jerked his head away, kicked Damian in the chest, and ran to throw himself at the sky.
Clark, too startled to react in time, wasn't able to get to John before the boy's body collided with the window, but he did grab him when John continued assaulting the transparent wall, knocking his head against it, scratching it, pounding on it with his fists, all without a sound except for the thumps and the soft grunts of effort. John writhed in Clark's arms and then shifted his assault to Superman, who tried to hold the boy in such a way that he could vent without hurting himself.
Furious screams and crowing started to fill the apartment. Lois had tried to comfort the little ones, but they didn't actually seem too upset, which was a little disturbing in and of itself.
Peter, eating steadily, watched his older brother for a minute before turning away. Jack sadly sucked and chewed on the fidget hanging from his neck. When the screams started, Peter signed, "Too loud," grabbed one last fistful of food, put his other arm around his smaller brother, and led Jack away into the guest room.
Damian was still on the floor, elbows propped on the chair John had vacated, face buried in his hands, shoulders bowed helplessly. Jon came over and patted him. "You did your best. You did a good job. It's not your fault he's mad."
"What do you know, Jonathan?" Damian snarled, but didn't even look up. After a moment, he leaned into his friend's side as Jon kept an arm around him.
The tantrum finally ended when John twittered savagely at Clark and the others, "Hate you hate you hate you!" with his hands echoing the sentiment. Then he threw himself onto the couch with his arm over his head and went silent.
The others were very subdued as they cleaned up. After a minute, Peter poked his head out of the guest room, then asked cheerfully, "Plllay ggame?"
"Well...we were going to go out to the Sunny Horizons Gallery, but I don't know if Johnny's feeling up to it, sweetie."
Peter fetched Elephant and set it on top of John before trotting away again without waiting to see how his offering would be accepted. John did not move for a long moment, but then pulled Elephant down into his arms and hugged it tight. Meanwhile, Peter tried to pick up the board game from the night before, and dropped the box, spilling the pieces everywhere. "Oh nnoooo! Nno may Ggam'pa kkeen u'pp!" He busily started picking everything up, joined by Lois and Clark.
Jack ventured out near his brother, watching. "You dropped it."
"Too big! Hard to hold."
"Big people not mad."
"Good big people."
On the couch, John rolled over to face his brothers and wailed in bird language, "When is Master coming?!"
[caw] went over to him. "Bat comes, you kill him. Bat doesn't come, we play. No chains no hurt no Laugh, much food!"
They looked at each other for a long moment. "Tired," [chirp-chirp] whimpered.
[caw] petted him. "Sleep."
"Heart-tired."
"I'm glad they won't let you die."
"Angry!"
[caw] flicked him in a way that meant "I don't care" and then went to set up the game the way he wanted to play it. [warble] watched. He didn't like to play the game [caw]'s way, but he did like to watch his flockmate move the pieces around.
o.o.o
They did eventually go to the gallery. At first, they were only going to bring the younger children, but when John saw that his brothers were being readied to go out, he rushed to the door and clung to them, not stopping Lois and Damian from putting on his hat, sunglasses, and shoes.
Sunny Horizons Gallery was designed for children to have free rein to express themselves artistically. The Kents, after paying the entrance fee, showed the boys around. The rooms were large and sunny, with walls and floors made to be painted or drawn on and then cleaned on a nightly basis, ready for the next day's art.
There were rooms for sculpting clay, making jewelry, and crocheting. There were disposable cameras available, and a theater for stage performances. There were typing machines and printers, art supplies of all kinds and endless amounts of paper. There was even a supervised kitchen with simple recipes. Attendants went around praising and chatting and playing with the children and recording all the art, especially on the walls, that wasn't portable. Children who made smaller creations were allowed to take them home.
"What would you boys like to play with first?" Lois asked.
Jack, who had already obtained one of the disposable cameras, tossed it away in disgust and pulled out his phone.
"Don't throw it, Drake! If you don't want it, just give it back." After a brief 'treat items with respect' lesson, the group began to drift apart. Lois and Peter ended up in the kitchen just in time for the next cooking class; Jon followed Jack around as the little boy snapped photos.
Damian was drawn to the walls. He picked up a jar of paint and a brush, reaching above the heads of the children working nearby.
In the same room, Clark was sticking close to John, who looked withdrawn, tired, and bored. "Do you want to try the paints, Johnny?" Clark coaxed, setting a paintbrush into the boy's hand. "Look." Hand-over-hand, he dipped it into the blue paint and gently streaked it across the wall. "They'll let you do this here. Do you want to make a picture, or just use abstract colors?"
John dropped the brush. He looked at a nearby jar of red paint and plunged his hand into it. Then he drew his hand back out and stared at his fingers, which now looked like they were dripping glops of blood.
Clark shifted uneasily. "Uhh, you want to maybe try-?"
John abruptly flung what was left of the red paint at the wall. A manic spark lit in his eyes. He seized the entire jar and hurled it, the impact against the wall startling half the people in the room. A couple of children who'd been splashed by the paint began to cry. John seized two more jars, but Clark managed to catch him and pry them out of his hands before he could throw them. "Okay, I think we need a break. Come on, Johnny."
Since the boy was now screaming and struggling, Clark was afraid to take him outside where people might think the child was being kidnapped. One of the attendants showed him a quiet, empty room where he could hold John until the boy's shrieks turned to low growls. Clark sneaked outside and then took off into the clouds.
John calmed at once. He sat in Clark's arms for a while, looking around, then started trying to climb over his shoulder again. This time, Clark let him, carefully keeping a hand closed around the boy's calf. John lay across Clark's back and eventually fell asleep. The Kryptonian flew on, circling the city over and over until Lois called him to say they were ready to leave.
o.o.o
Meanwhile, the younger birds were having the time of their lives. Once Peter had finished eating the treat he had made, he grabbed fistfuls of crayons and happily scribbled them over the walls (Lois hastily had to stop him from interfering with other children's work). He spread out a huge piece of butcher paper on the floor of one room and began to paint it, blobby shapes that represented his loved ones.
In the jewelry room, he had no interest in creating any pieces himself, but he did quite enjoy plunging his hands into the buckets of beads, stimming off the sensation of many small, smooth pieces across his skin. That occupied him for a while, and once he had finally tired of that, he started sorting beads into piles.
Jack had made his way back to the theater room. He spent a lot of time playing dress-up with Jon backstage before his attention was caught by the rigging. He pulled and pushed at it, figuring out how it worked, and was delighted to be able to change the stage backdrops (Jon helped manage the weight). The six-year-old enlisted Jon's help in drawing the curtains closed and then open again, and eventually convinced him to fly them up to the service walkway near the ceiling. They soon got caught by an attendant, who lectured them about safety but then took them to the control room and taught them how to work the lights and soundboard. Jack was delighted and continued to play with the settings long after Jon started getting bored.
Damian was in a world of his own. He'd fetched a ladder so he could continue creating his mural, which soon prompted a couple of alarmed attendants to try to get him down.
"Do you know who you're talking to, fools? My father is Bruce Wayne. If you continue to interfere, he will buy this whole gallery and then you'll have to allow the new owner's son to do whatever he wants." When he demonstrated that he could fall off the ladder without injury and still didn't manage to convince them, he called his father, who immediately made such a large donation/bribe to the gallery that the attendants, who by now had been joined by the manager, reluctantly backed off.
By late afternoon, the boys seemed ready to leave, but Damian was still absorbed in his work. Lois shook her head and told him they'd be back to pick him up at closing time. She wondered, when he merely grunted in acknowledgment, if he'd actually heard her, but figured that Batman's son could handle himself unaccompanied in Metropolis.
Clark soon joined them and John awakened, grumbling, when he was gently set on his feet. The Kents took the birds to a dessert shop to pass the time.
"Dad?" Jon asked, absently warding off Peter's efforts to poke him with a spoon, "Was that Batm- I mean, was it Mr. Wayne singing last night?"
"Have you been thinking about that all this time?" Lois laughed.
"I didn't wanna ask when Damian was around."
"Don't tell anyone," Clark murmured fondly, "but yes. He doesn't like to, but he will if it's necessary to help a loved one. He sang once to save Diana from an enchantment."
"That's really cool! I wonder what all the bad guys in Gotham would think if they heard him sing."
"I suspect that's one of the reasons he avoids it."
"Kind of silly, though," Lois remarked, using a napkin to mop up the spoonful of sorbet Jack had accidentally flipped across the table. "It still hurts regardless of whether your butt is kicked by a good singer or a bad singer."
"I think he just doesn't want anyone to associate him with singing, period," Clark chuckled.
Peter banged on the table to get their attention. "More, please!"
"Maybe later, Peter, after we feed you guys dinner."
When they went to collect the birds' brother, all of them just stood there for a while, staring at the wall Damian had taken over. "Me! Me!" Jack said, pointing. "[chirp-chirp] [caw]!"
"That's right, Jack," Clark murmured. "Damian painted you and your brothers."
The lower part of the wall was filled with a sea of sinister black. Rising out of it were three winged child figures, more Impressionist than Damian's usual style. The one in the center, clearly a depiction of John despite the indistinct face, was ripping the dark ocean's binding tendrils from his body, determined to free himself as his wings unfurled. To one side, Jack had his face uplifted to the light for the first time as the dark bonds fell away; on the other, Peter leaped enthusiastically from the depths, brandishing his own torn fetters in triumph.
"Johnny," Jon said, gently setting a hand on the boy's shoulder as he pointed at his friend's painting, "that's what Damian wants- that's what we all want for you, to be free and happy. Maybe you feel like everything's dark and scary, but the bad things are over now and we'll all help pull you out, okay?"
John jerked away, turning his back to the painting. He slowly dropped to his hands and knees, then sounded like he was trying to make himself throw up. Clark hastily picked him up and carried him away. Damian silently put his arm around his friend, who hid his face in Damian's shoulder and curled a fist into his shirt. "What did I do wrong...?"
"You did fine. Grayson simply does not want to be helped right now," Damian said tightly. He drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "We must be patient until he is ready," he added quietly, speaking to himself as much as to Jon.
Peter and Jack looked confused and anxious at John's reaction, so Lois tugged them close for reassuring kisses. She took a photo with her phone to preserve the painting for her own family and for the Waynes, then took the children's hands. "Let's go, kiddos. Kara's going to join us for dinner."
The meal was uneventful, though lively enough with Kara's chatter to cheer up her young cousin-once-removed and soothe everyone but John, who spent the meal methodically destroying his food and barely eating any of it. Afterward, everyone helped clean up and pack the children's luggage.
"We go away?!" Jack asked in alarm.
"You're going back home, sweetie. But we really had fun, maybe you can come stay with us again sometime."
The little boy started to get panicky until John said something harsh in bird language. Jack went to curl up on the couch with Bear and gnaw on his chew fidget, but he did calm down. Peter stomped around the apartment, loudly protesting in all his languages that he did not want to go back to Bat and he wanted to stay here. He was so angry that he refused to say goodbye to anyone and tried to beat his fists against Jon's head when the older boy hoisted him up into a piggyback hold, but once in the sky, Peter calmed down. He wrapped his arms around Jon's neck and grumbled, watching the stars.
Jack and Kara chatted to each other, but John was silent as usual. At one point, he leaned back to sign, "You fly away?"
"We're...flying right now, yes," Clark replied, a little confused.
John frowned impatiently. "Fly away from Batman."
"We're...flying...toward Batman," Clark said cautiously. "But don't worry, no one's going to hurt-"
"YOU fly away from Batman!" John said in exasperation. "I stay."
"Yes, but Johnny, no one's going to hurt you. I'll visit you sometimes, and you and your brothers can come play with us again. You'll be safe, Johnny."
The boy made a long, noisy sigh of frustration, then climbed up to lie on Superman's back with his arms around the Kryptonian's neck and watch the lights on the ground below as they flew. Clark lightly grasped the child's arm to make sure he didn't jump or fall off.
They reached Wayne Manor without incident. Alfred was waiting on the terrace and stooped to hug Peter and Jack when they ran to him. John's face was all business as he marched up to the butler. "Batman."
"Master Bruce and Master Damian will be home later tonight. You, however, will be sound asleep in bed by then, Master John."
"Batman gone?"
"He is not here at the moment."
John turned away and tried to push over a chair.
Clark wearily wrapped his arm around the boy's chest and picked him up; John kicked peevishly. "I think I'll help you get them ready for bed."
"That would be appreciated, Mr. Kent."
During the weekend, Dick had recovered enough to leave with Wally to Titans Tower. Cassandra was out of the wheelchair by now, and the only one still ill was Tim, who was on the mend and finally had an easier time sleeping. Maya had left the manor; Stephanie was currently out on patrol with Duke. Cassandra had agreed to stay behind to guard the birds when they arrived, and until then, was keeping an eye on things in the cave while Alfred tended to the youngest masters.
By the time Bruce arrived home, the Kryptonians had left. As soon as Damian had dumped his luggage in his room, he went to relieve his grandfather of tech support duty so that Alfred could go to bed. Bruce took fifteen minutes to meditate in his room, refreshing himself, then rose to join his children on patrol.
He'd taken two steps down the hall when the birds' bedroom door abruptly swung open. "John?" Bruce said in surprise.
The boy marched over to him and stared, angry and expectant.
"What do you need?"
No answer.
"Johnny, you need to go back to sleep." He reached to set a hand on the boy's back, and as expected, John shied away, though he continued to glare. Bruce herded him back up the hall, angled himself so that he wouldn't be visible to the occupants of the room, and tried to push John inside. Cassandra appeared.
"You take him, I go," Bruce said in body language.
Cassandra looked down at her little brother and snapped her fingers in front of his face to draw his attention away from Bruce. "You want bad/angry, but I say no. Come inside; Bruce-him go away."
John snapped his teeth at her.
"NO," she wordlessly snarled back, making it clear with her face and body that she would not allow this. "You be angry, that's okay, but you will let Bruce-him go."
"ANGRY!"
"Yes."
John sank his teeth deep into his own arm. By the time Bruce and Cassandra had pried him off of himself and bandaged him, the younger birds had awakened from the commotion and were now huddled under the desk, Jack crying.
'I hate this,' Bruce thought. 'Absolutely NOTHING changed after a weekend away from the manor.' He looked at his son. 'I need to do something about those teeth.' "John," he said out loud, "do not bite. If you bite yourself or anyone else again, I will make sure you can't anymore, do you understand? Do not bite people."
John bared fangs at him that still gleamed with remnants of blood.
"Go," Cassandra gestured wearily.
Bruce turned away, feeling like he was caught in an endless nightmare.
o.o.o
[chirp-chirp] couldn't believe it. Still. Still. Master was STILL PRETENDING, he would never stop. He was waiting for [chirp-chirp] to believe him. He was waiting for [chirp-chirp] to think he was finally, finally safe, and then when [chirp-chirp] was happy and relaxed and not expecting it, Master would Laugh and grab him and hurt him until he died.
No more. No more. [chirp-chirp] would never, never believe Master, he would never die like that, thinking he was safe and then hurting so much to see it was another another ANOTHER lie. No more waiting. [chirp-chirp] would kill Master, or make Master kill him quick, or find another way to die. Nothing else mattered anymore.
"Goodbye," he told his flockmates.
They cried, but they understood. "Goodbye, [chirp-chirp]."
He hugged them one last time, then waited for morning.
TBC