The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Alternate ending: Dad Tim - Part 1 (rough draft)
Red Robin was the first one back to the cave. He got off his bike, feeling like a robot.
Jack ran up to him, twittering anxiously about his brothers. "[chirp-chirp]?! [caw]?! [chirp-chirp]?!"
"He's dead," Tim said in a flat robot voice. There was a long pause, then he realized he should probably be more tactful. "Jack. I'm sorry. I lied to you. Peter's far away with Jason, and none of us are ever going to see John again." Too bad robots didn't know how to be tactful.
"...Brothers dead?" Jack signed shakily.
"Yeah."
The boy went very quiet. Tim trudged over to sit in a chair by the computer. He had the idea to work on something, like...old case files, or...something...but he just sat there. Like a deactivated robot.
Jack climbed into his lap. Tim managed to rest one arm over him, but not the other. The child did not cry for his lost brother, just like Tim hadn't wept a single drop all night, because his little counterpart was a robot just like him.
"I wwan't [chirp-chirp] [caw]," Jack said sadly.
"You can't have them."
"Yess...ggoo'bye."
Tim slowly put his other arm around the boy and squeezed.
Duke, who had been sitting uncertainly at his usual station, cleared his throat and said in a voice that was still rough, "Alfred left when...when the video cut out."
"Yeah. It's against butler rules to grieve in front of the Family," Tim said in his robot voice.
"...God." After a moment, Duke leaned his elbows on the desk and rested his face in his hands. It was quiet in the cave for a long time, then Duke suddenly sobbed aloud. He hurried upstairs as if he thought he had some reason to hide his tears from Tim, the robot boy who couldn't cry for his exploded nine-year-old brother.
"...[chirp-chirp]."
Tim said nothing.
Half a minute later, "[chirp-chirp]."
About the fifth time Jack called hopelessly for his brother, Tim said in his robot voice, "Shut up."
"[chirp-chirp]."
"He's not coming. He's dead."
"[chirp-chirp]! [chirp-chirp]! [chirp-chirp]!"
Tim shoved the boy out of his lap and made it halfway up the stairs before the tiny fraction of his brain that was still human protested. No matter how he felt, he couldn't just leave a grieving six-year-old child alone in the Batcave. He descended again and took Jack's hand. "Come on. I'm taking you to bed."
"[chirp-chirp]...[chirp-chirp]..."
Tim half-dragged his little brother to his room, that huge empty room that had been meant for three birds and now had only one. He hoisted Jack onto the bed and flopped the covers over him. "Go to sleep."
Jack wouldn't stop clinging to him, and finally did burst into tears. Tim shed most of his Red Robin suit and lay down on the bed. He thought he wouldn't be able to sleep, but after holding Jack and watching scenarios play through his head for a while, every alternate route that the family should have taken to bring John home alive, his robot brain eventually shut down.
o.o.o.o.o
He woke up to chirping. Because Jack was pressed against the window, calling for his dead brothers.
Tim got out of bed and went to pee and then headed for the coffee machine in the kitchen. The room was filled with mounds of food, all exquisitely presented in a way Alfred usually only bothered with for formal meals or important guests; the butler himself had half the cookware and appliances displaced so he could scour every nook and cranny. Keeping busy. Too busy to think. Tim knew the feeling.
Neither of them exchanged a word or even a glance, though Alfred set a heaping plate on the table for Jack, who had been forlornly following his counterpart. Alfred did speak up grimly, once Tim had gotten his coffee and was about to leave again. "I am certain that you don't intend to leave this room without having breakfast, Master Timothy."
"I'm not hungry."
"Sit down and eat," Alfred snapped.
Tim sat. He was too tired - not physically, or even mentally, but tired all the same - to serve himself properly, so he just grabbed the closest dish, which happened to be filled with pancakes, and dragged it close to start mechanically chewing on the contents.
After about two minutes of silence, Jack, who was only picking at his food, started to cry softly. Tim could not bring himself to care. Alfred came over and rested a hand on the child's head and let Jack sob into his jacket.
"I'm finished eating," Tim said, and left with his coffee.
He didn't see Bruce or Dick all day. He didn't see much of anyone all day, since he was holed up in his room, making arrangements for the home he shouldn't have procrastinated on setting up. At one point, he realized that Jack was curled up at his feet, and he wondered how long the child had been there.
o.o.o.o.o
Almost everyone went on solo patrol that night. At one point, Nightwing and Robin had such an explosive fight that Red Robin simply switched off his comm, not even knowing or caring what the fight was about. When he came back to the cave, he found that Nightwing had left Gotham altogether. Only Robin was back, saying something awkwardly comforting to Jack.
Red Robin stared at the Batcomputer, where a stuffed elephant and dog were perched near Bruce's usual screen.
"I'm afraid to move them," Duke murmured.
It was as if the sight of those toys, now symbols of the children they had belonged to, finally, finally unlocked something in Tim's heart. He stripped off his suit in a daze, and it was while he was trying to shower that the tears came at last. He tried to finish showering even as he cried, but ended up crouched on the tiled floor, covering his face and sobbing. "Johnny..."
At least Peter was safe, even if Jason would probably never let him within ten miles of the manor again. John, though...that innocent, suffering little boy they'd all tried their best to help, that child they'd all failed to help, who'd died so selflessly and fearlessly...
Even when Tim tried to forcibly stop thinking about that terrible night, other memories came pouring in: John petting the cat so gently, John struggling to wield a spoon on his meal, John playing with his brothers in the warm sunlight, John watching the books that were read to him, John curled up with his siblings... 'I'm never going to see him again. He's never going to get better. He's never going to realize he's free. I'll never see him again, Jack will never stop missing him, we'll never get to teach him all the things he would have loved to learn, he's gone, he's gone...!'
The water shut off and towels were draped over him before Cassandra crouched at his side and embraced him, crooning. They wept together for a long time, until Tim finally started shivering. "I'm...okay now," he sniffed, trying to wipe his face. "I...let me get dressed, and I'll...I..."
She stroked his cheek and then left. When he came trudging out, now wearing pajamas, he felt hollow and drained, but no longer heartless. Or, less like he had no heart at all and more like his heart had been scooped out of his chest. "Jack...Jackie...?"
The little boy ran to him, and Tim hugged him tightly. His little counterpart, his baby brother, his soon-to-be-son suddenly seemed precious, the last chance he had to do things right this time. A person with needs he could actually meet, or at least attempt to meet. He would not take Jack for granted like he had before, when they'd all just assumed the three rescued birds would be theirs forever.
"Hey, Jack," Tim whispered at last. "Let's go get ready for bed, okay?"
"[chirp-chirp]...[caw]..."
"I'm...I'm sorry, Jack. It's just you and me."
"Brothers dead."
"Just...just one of them. Peter's still alive, he's just far away. I can...maybe I can call Jason, maybe leave a message, maybe I can get him to let you talk to-" He broke off. He'd promised Jack before that he would be reunited with his brothers, and that had never happened. Tim had broken his promise. He'd better not make anymore promises he might not be able to keep.
"Brothers dead."
"I'm so sorry, Jack," Tim whispered.
The little boy was a bit smelly; apparently no one had thought to bathe him since That Night. Tim helped Jack into the shower, wishing he knew more of what he was doing, trying not to look at all those scars because he couldn't bear the sight of them, of how much pain his child had suffered. He found some pajamas that fit, and when Jack didn't want any of the books in his room, Tim read to him from a Philip K. Dick anthology until the child fell asleep.
Tim did some more work on his laptop and then eventually curled himself around the child to try to rest. He woke up later from a nightmare, which deeply upset Jack, and they both went down the hall to Dick's bed. It was empty, but they both still slept easier there.
o.o.o.o.o
Tim put Red Robin on hold for a few days, throwing himself into the work of rebuilding his civilian life. He pushed the workers hard to get his home ready, and made sure Jack's custody paperwork was finalized as soon as possible. He did his WE work remotely, not feeling up to facing not-sad people right now. He wasn't up to facing depressed and grieving people, either; every time he got a chance, he took Jack out of the manor so they could spend the day at the park or the library or wherever.
The idea was that Jack could play while Tim got work done, but sometime during the third day, Tim looked up and realized that Jack had never actually left his side. Was currently, in fact, curled up half on his lap, Bear tucked under the arm holding his phone as he used his other hand to slowly page through photos of his lost brothers.
"Oh my God." He'd barely even started, and he was already an awful parent. He couldn't just lose himself in work anymore, he had to make sure the tiny person he was now responsible for had his needs met first. "Ummmm...Jack, are you hungry?"
"[chirp-chirp]. [caw]."
"...I'm gonna buy you a- whatever that guy is selling, okay?"
"Ddead. Ggoo'bye."
Tim, not knowing what to say, stuffed his laptop into its case and walked over to the tiny mobile food stand slowly making its way around the park. "Hi. Could I have...?" Tim stared at the handwritten menu, then down at his little self/brother/son. "What kind of tacos do you want, Jack?"
The little boy just stared up at him with huge puppy eyes. Tim stared back, feeling a strange twinge his heart, realizing for the first time exactly why Jack had so many people wrapped around his little finger. Unfortunately, puppy eyes were not an answer to the question he'd asked. "Do you want...chicken, or...bean and cheese...?"
"...Sad," Jack finally signed. Which wrung Tim's heart even more, but was also not an answer.
Tim gave up and bought six tacos of various kinds to split between the two of them. He ended up feeling full after only one, and Jack slowly picked his way through half a taco before abandoning the rest to play with Bear in quiet bird language.
Tim watched him for a minute, feeling at a loss. "Help," he whispered to no one in particular.
o.o.o.o.o
It was very subdued the day they moved out. Bruce had entirely vanished, and Tim didn't blame him. Everyone else who remained hugged Jack for a long time, whispered how much they loved him, and patted Tim's shoulder, but ultimately didn't say much. Damian, weirdly, just held onto Tim's hand for a long moment without looking at him or saying anything, before abruptly marching away.
Tim didn't have much to pack, since his home was already fully-equipped and most of the things he cared enough about to keep close were in digital form. Most of the room in his car was taken up by Jack's things, clothes and toys as well as various bags and boxes of stuff, mostly packed by Alfred, that scared Tim a little because he hadn't even realized that childrearing required things like that. What else would he forget or be ignorant of when it came to raising a six-year-old safely to adulthood?
'Oh my God. I'm going to be solely responsible for him for twelve more years, we're going to be together all the time, what am I going to do when he becomes a teenager, what do I-?' He cut off that train of thought before he could start panicking. Thinking about the future was too overwhelming; he had to just concentrate on making sure his child was safe and fed and healthy and settled into their new home.
To be continued...
A/N: It's been a while! My house has been keeping me busy; I dearly love living on my own, but it comes with responsibilities (housework! cooking!) I didn't have while living as a depressed hermit in my parents' house. X''D I've been making my way through more and more of the papers and crap that piled up over those years of depression, getting excited because, aside from a box of old personal papers to shred, I'm down to the dregs of the tangible stuff. (Next up is the mountain of digital backlog. X''D)
Anyway, although I still haven't made any progress drafting the main story, I did finally draw a blueprint of my headcanon of Wayne Manor (which means yet more stuff to fix, since it makes an actual difference knowing the specific layout of the house!), and also only have one more page of notes to type before I can start organizing. Still procrastinating just as much as ever on the prequel, gosh dang it. I really hate that story. *facepalm* Timmy and baby Timmy are much more fun to write (even if I did forget in the first draft that they'd both be freshly traumatized from John's death and Peter's departure), so here's Part 1 of the sequel to the Bad Ending!