The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Deleted sequence: The original version of "John vs. Bruce" (rough draft)
A/N: I wrote this a looooooong time ago (for example, the F-bomb here was originally going to be the only one in this fic X''''D), but the more I progressed on the story properly, the more outdated this version of the "John vs. Bruce" story arc became. In the end, I've decided to only save the finale for the real story, but I also liked everything that came before that, so I'm posting it as a deleted sequence.
o.o.o
With no change of expression, John punched him hard in the face.
Bruce fell back, gasping in shock. John had immediately taken a step or two back, staring, wide-eyed, his breathing quickening, clutching his hands together as his shoulders hunched.
"Why did you-?" He knew why. He'd been through this before, with Jason and, to a lesser extent, Damian. 'Damn.' The next few days, possibly weeks, were not going to be enjoyable.
Bruce took a deep breath. "Everything's fine. I know why you did that, I'm not angry, I'm not going to hurt you or punish you. You're safe."
John stared at him.
Bruce held out a hand. "Come on. Let's go see what Alfred's made for lunch."
John flew at him, but Bruce was ready this time. Two seconds later, he had the boy in a restraining hold. "John," he said to the struggling child, "I'm not angry, but I can't let you hurt people. I'm not going to punish you, but I will not let you hurt people. You're not in trouble. You're safe. Do not hurt people."
"Hhhhh... Hhhhate yyoouuu!" John jerked his head sharply backward, but Bruce was already keeping his face out of the way, and the boy's head thudded mostly harmlessly against the man's shoulder. "Hhhhh- Hhhhhittt mme! Hhhhhurttt mme!"
"No. I will not. I will never hit you."
"Hhhhh! HAAAAHHHH!"
The screaming and struggling went on for ten exhausting minutes. A concerned Alfred showed up at one point, but he understood after only an exchange of silent glances with Bruce. "Master John, whenever you are ready, your lunch is waiting for you," the butler said calmly, and left.
At last, the boy gave up. He hung in Bruce's arms for a while, panting, then raised his head to glare out of the corner of his eye. "I...hhhurt yyou."
"Yes, you did. I know you're scared. I know the man who abused you made you think that you will never be safe. I know you're trying to hurt me so that you'll find out how much I will hurt you when I lose control, but I'm telling you right now, John, things are different here. I will never, ever strike a child, no matter how angry I get. Do you understand? I will never hit you, John. I will never chain you or forbid you to speak or try to alter your mind. I love you."
John seemed to shut down. It was like a curtain drew down over his face and eyes, and he said demurely, "Llllove yyou, Ddaddy."
Bruce knew this wasn't over, but John seemed to have given up for now, so he nodded and cautiously released the boy.
John rubbed at his wrists. "Hhhurtss," he said dolefully.
Bruce gently took the boy's hands, not commenting on the fact that they started to tremble a little in his grasp. "I'm sorry I had to restrain you, John. I know I didn't squeeze too hard." He had been careful not to, knowing how his own strength compared to the child's. "It doesn't look like it's going to bruise, but I'll keep an eye on it, just in case." He gently rested his hand on the side of John's face. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay."
"Are you scared, or angry? Do you want to go lie down for a while, or eat lunch, or play, or read?"
"I love you, Dad. I'm hungry."
"All right. Let's go eat, then."
Bruce stayed on guard. He was ready for it when, the next day, John bounced up to hug him, then suddenly tried to bite him.
A brief struggle ensued, and then John was screaming in a restraining hold again. He shrieked and cried and struggled, and when he finally stopped, he was shaking like a leaf.
"I told you yesterday, John. I know why you're doing this. I wish you'd stop, and I won't let you hurt anyone, but I'm not angry and I'm not going to punish you."
"HHHATE YYOOOUU!"
"I'm sorry you feel that way. I don't hate you; I love you very much."
"HAAAAHHH!" He was sobbing again.
The next few days were awful. John broke things, tore things, threw things, shouted terrible things at his father. Bruce and Alfred pointedly overlooked most of the bad behavior and didn't clean up anything unless John had calmed down and was helping them. They both told John they loved him multiple times a day.
Then John managed to interfere with the comm system during patrol one night, and Batman and Robin nearly died due to the tampering.
"I'll teach that little brat what happens to-!"
"No. I will handle this. Stay at one of the safe houses tonight; I'm going to have enough trouble with John as it is, without you riled up and burning for revenge."
"He could have gotten us killed!"
"It won't happen again."
Bruce deliberately calmed himself on the drive home. He was deeply upset about Damian's wholly unnecessary brush with death, and he was planning to try a new tactic, but he had to be devoid of anger first.
John was waiting in the Cave. When Bruce jumped out of the Batmobile and stormed toward him, the boy backed away, signing quickly, "Hello Batman Dad I used the computer I'm a bad boy, I'm a bad boy."
Bruce shoved back the cowl as he continued to advance, since keeping it on would have been too much. "YOU KNOW TO NEVER TOUCH THE COMPUTER WHEN WE'RE ON PATROL," he thundered. "YOU KNOW THAT, JOHN." It was tricky to pour so much fury into his voice and body language without letting the actual emotion rise up with it, but he'd practiced this sort of thing since long before he became Batman. If it was necessary for John to see him 'lose' control, then he would put on whatever act his son needed, but he refused to genuinely lose control and reaffirm the boy's fears.
John backed away from him until his back hit a wall. He slid down it until he reached the floor, looking incredibly tiny as he stared up at the raging man looming over him.
"YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN ME KILLED. YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN ROBIN KILLED. IT IS UNACCEPTABLE TO PUT ANY OF YOUR SIBLINGS IN SUCH DANGER, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, JOHN?"
John kept staring up at him, completely still.
"THIS NEEDS TO STOP. THIS NEEDS TO STOP, RIGHT NOW. NO MORE HITTING, NO MORE TANTRUMS, NO MORE SABOTAGE. FROM NOW ON, YOU WILL BEHAVE."
The child's hands were shaking badly, but he finally managed to form a response: "Fuck you."
Bruce stared down at him. It was clear that John was terrified, but there was also defiance in his expression. His chin was lifted even as he looked like he expected a fist to come crashing into him at any moment.
"...John."
"You're angry?"
"Yes, I am very angry with you."
"You'll hit me now?"
"No. But you did cross a line and you are going to be punished. You're grounded. No school or friends or anything fun for three days. You are going to study and work, that's it."
"Hit me, put me in a cage. I'm bad. I hurt Robin."
"I will never hit you or imprison you. You're a good boy who's frightened and angry right now. I expect you to never do anything to hurt any of your siblings ever again."
John burst into tears. "I'm bad, I hurt Robin... I'm bad..."
Bruce hauled him to his feet. John panicked and resisted briefly, but stopped when he found that he was being marched out of the cave rather than beaten. Bruce put him in his room and took all the toys and games away and shut the door, then went to his own room to bury his face in his arms for a while.
John was very quiet during his grounding. He avoided Bruce and worked hard and cried a lot, softly, refusing comfort even from Alfred. He was quiet the whole day afterward, even when he was allowed to play and go to school again.
Then came the afternoon when Bruce walked into his room and found all his old books on the floor. The picture books that his mother and father had read to him as a child. They were on the floor and lying open and battered, and John was slowly, pointedly ripping another page in half, staring right at Bruce as he did so.
"STOP!"
He might have shoved harder than he'd meant to. He picked up the book like it was an injured child and stared at it, aghast, fingertips hovering over the torn edge, a lump rising in his throat. 'Mother touched these books. Father touched these books. They're ruined. He ruined-'
He whirled and seized the boy. He wasn't...quite sure what happened next, but now he had John pinned to the bed, he could feel fury surging through his veins like fire, John was shaking and whimpering and gasping for breath as he gazed up at Bruce with terror and defiance and resignation in his eyes.
Bruce made himself loosen the grip he had on John's wrists. 'Too tight. It'll probably bruise. I hurt him.' He replayed his memory. He hadn't done anything to John other than grab him and force him down, and use too much pressure when holding him...but that was bad enough. John couldn't say much with his hands immobilized, but it was plain to read on his face: "I knew it. Here it comes. I knew it."
Bruce forced himself to let go. John stared at him. Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but then John darted his fingers at the man's eyes, and Bruce had to catch him and pin him down again. "STOP."
John's eyes moved upward to fix on the ceiling. He waited.
"I am not going to beat you, but God DAMN it, John, you hurt me! You knew how much this would hurt me!"
Tears began to slip from the boy's eyes, but he still lay motionless, staring at the ceiling.
"How long is this going to go on?! How far are you going to go?! You're really aiming for my heart, aren't you!"
"crow"
Bruce gave him a brief shake. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. "NO. NO. You are not a bird, you are a boy, a vicious, clever little boy who knows exactly how to-" He clenched his teeth together to force himself to stop talking. He made himself back away, step by step, and started to calm his breathing.
John lay where he'd been left for a minute without moving. Finally he sat up and looked at Bruce. "...Angry?"
"You're damn right I'm angry." Maybe, the last time, John had been able to tell. Maybe he'd sensed that Bruce had only been faking before.
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not."
"I'm not sorry." He hunched apprehensively as he signed.
"Are you trying to hurt me, John?"
"Yes."
"Do you hate me, John?"
"...No."
"Are you trying to hurt me because you're afraid of me?"
"..."
"Well, you're succeeding. You are hurting me, and maybe you should be afraid of me, too." Bruce moved toward him again.
John started to scrabble away, now terrified and not defiant anymore when the man approached, but all Bruce did was gently lift his arms to inspect his wrists.
"Damn it, these are going to bruise. I hurt you, you were right about me all along... If you contact the right people, they can take you out of my house and I'll have no right to stop them."
John started to cry.
"Do you want to keep living with me, even though you've feared me from day one and I'm the same man as the one who tortured you? Or do you want to go live with someone else, someone more well-adjusted than me who knows what the hell to do with abused children?"
"I want to die."
"No, Johnny... No, no, don't say things like that..."
Bruce gathered the boy into his arms to hug him. John tried to pull his shirt off; Bruce set a hand on his chest to stop him.
"My heart hurts!"
"I know. I know, chum. Mine does, too."
o.o.o.o.o
Bruce woke up in the middle of the night to a sharp pain in his side, and the bloodied blade glinted in the light from the window as John raised it to strike again.
"JOHN." Bruce limped his way toward Alfred's room near the kitchen, bellowing for his butler as he kept one hand pressed against the bleeding wound in his side and one hand clamped, probably too firmly, around his screaming son's wrists.
Alfred blanched when he opened the door. "Good Lord."
"He stabbed me!"
Alfred took charge at once, herding his two deeply upset charges to the kitchen, where he could access running water and a first aid kit.
"YOU stay put!" Bruce stormed, swinging John around and shoving him down into a corner, just barely managing to temper his strength. John crouched there, hissing, too upset to even sign. "You stabbed me! Even Jason at his worst never tried to kill me!" Before the crowbar, obviously.
"Master Bruce, if you will sit down here so I can stitch you up," Alfred said firmly, steering him away.
"What do I do with him, Alfred! I can't spank him, I can't deny him food, grounding OBVIOUSLY has no effect-"
"Master Bruce, be quiet. Master John, stop that uncivilized noise at once."
Both of the young masters shut up. Bruce sat seething, looking anywhere but at his son; John, when Alfred harshly forbid him from carving lines into his own skin with his fingernails, settled for carving lines into the wall instead.
As soon as Alfred had shut the first aid kit with a snap, he marched toward the corner with the iciest expression Bruce had ever seen on his face. "Master John, if you would be so kind, pray tell me exactly what you thought you were doing tonight?"
John stared up at him in horror, looking struck to the heart.
"You will give me an explanation at once."
"...Mistake."
"It certainly was a mistake," Alfred stormed. "I understand you have yet to overcome the abhorrent treatment you suffered in the past, but this has gone too far. Take it out on the house if you must, but I will not tolerate you causing such deliberate, malicious harm to any person in this family."
John burst into tears, curling into himself with his arms over his head.
Alfred let him cry for a moment. Then, although it was difficult for him to get down on the hard floor at his age, he knelt and placed a hand on the child's heaving shoulders. "Master John, I love you deeply," he said in a gentler tone. "And your father, Master Bruce, loves you as well. We forgive you, and we beg you to stop. I wish you and your father nothing but peace and happiness, my dear boy."
"You hate me. I'm bad. Alone cold dark, I want to hurt, I love you, Dad is angry, Bad Laugh Man makes me cold dark hurts me, I'm scared, Dad is not Him Dad is Him Dad will hurt me, when will he hurt me? Why?"
Alfred gathered John into his arms. "My dear boy...my dear, precious boy... We love you so much, we would give the world to keep you safe, dear child..."
Bruce knelt beside them. "John."
The boy tensed in Alfred's embrace.
"John. I'm sorry for losing my temper." He reached to caress his son's hair. "You're a good boy, you have been such a light in our lives, just like Dick and all your brothers and sister were before you. I know you're hurting even more than I am right now. I'm sorry, and I love you, and I don't ever want to hurt you. Alfred was completely right, we would give the world to protect you."
John struggled free. He tried to pull off his clothes, but they stopped him; he set Bruce's hands around his own throat and tried to squeeze his fingers tighter. "Kkkilll mme."
"No. No, John. No."
"Please hurt me."
"No. You are safe. We love you, we will not hurt you."
"Wwwhhhy?!"
"You are a good boy, a precious boy, we love you, we want you to be safe and happy."
"I am a bird! [crow]!"
"You are a human boy. We love you."
John wept.