The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Chapter 27 - Rock Bottom
[rough draft 2]
Once Batman was on the streets, he sent Spoiler and Signal home, since they would need their rest in order to look after the children the next day. In the morning, as soon as the younger birds had awakened (John had not slept all night), Cassandra handed over all three to Stephanie and went to bed.
"Good morning, babies~!" Stephanie sang, bringing over serving dishes from the counter where Alfred had prepared them. "What do you guys want to eat? Do you want pancakes, or cereal, or-?"
"Batman," John asked as his brothers signed for their food choices.
"You want to eat Batman?" Stephanie laughed, starting to serve the younger two.
"Bbboosse. Give me."
"You want...to see Bruce?" Well, that had to be progress, right? "He's sleeping, baby bird, but you can see him this afternoon, okay?"
"Give me Batman."
"Later, Johnny. Not right now."
John got out of his seat and marched away.
"Uhhhh...!" Stephanie threw a look at Alfred, who nodded to show that he'd keep an eye on the younger boys. Stephanie rushed into the hall after John. "Hey, Johnnybird, we can see Bruce later, okay? Right now, it's time for breakfast."
He shook her off and kept going.
"Johnny, seriously, I'm not playing. I know how it feels to have to get up early after you've had a long night of vigilanteing, it sucks! Let's not do that to Daddy, okay?"
He snapped his teeth at her. She gasped, just barely managing to snatch her arm out of the way. "John! What the heck, Johnny, don't bite me! Super not nice."
The boy soon reached the master bedroom and started struggling with the door handle. Stephanie's attempts to stop him resulted in nothing but him trying to hit and bite her.
"Johnny, don't be a brat. You're supposed to be Dick's clone, not Damian's." She called Duke's phone. "Heeeyy, buddy, so calling you in early, since you're kind of all I've got for cavalry here..."
Duke, shirtless, came yawning out of his room, but nothing he said or did was any more successful than Stephanie's efforts. John managed to unlatch the door, and he slipped inside immediately.
"John, get back here!" Stephanie hissed.
Bruce woke up to find two teenagers and an angry nine-year-old struggling on his bed, nearly on top of him. John's fists were clenched around various sharp office supplies he'd apparently snagged from the desk; Stephanie and Duke were struggling to both pry them out of his grip and keep him from reaching his target.
"What is going on here?" Bruce demanded.
"Really angry bird! Johnny, stop!"
"crow! crow! crow!"
With Bruce's added efforts, they managed to get the boy disarmed, and Bruce started to drag him out of the room with his arms crossed harmlessly over his chest. John struggled and screamed, doing his best to bite.
Bruce was already bleeding, since he hadn't had a chance to put on the armored layer he'd long ago taken to wearing around the birds. "John, do not bite, I told you what would happen if you kept biting people." He hesitated in the hall, not sure where to take John. "Where are the others?"
"Kitchen," Stephanie said nervously. "They're fine, Alfred's watching them."
"Has John eaten?"
"No."
Bruce looked back down at the child he was restraining, who had not ceased his determined efforts to get free and cause damage. "John, if you calm down, I will let you go. If you do not calm down, I'm going to hold you until you do."
There was no sign of acknowledgment, only more crowing. Bruce soon gestured with his head for the teens to go and they both headed downstairs. Bruce settled in for a long wait.
It was a very, very long wait. Cassandra stumbled blearily out of her room at one point, but Bruce ordered her to go back to bed. "He wants to kill you," she said in distress.
"Go. I'll handle it." Recognizing there was nothing she could do, she obeyed.
Twenty minutes later, Tim came lurching into the hall. "What the hell is happening out here?"
"Power struggle," Bruce ground out. "Go back to bed."
"Bruce always wins," Tim said grouchily to John, then slammed his door. A couple of minutes later, the muffled sound of music started up inside.
John struggled, even after he'd stopped screaming, for nearly an entire hour. Bruce was exhausted by then and was only continuing to hold on through sheer force of will. When John went still at last, Bruce hopefully started to release the hold, but then the boy lashed out again. So it was back to the restraining hold and the struggling for another ten minutes, then John paused. Very slowly and deliberately, he relaxed.
Bruce was more cautious letting go this time. John remained still for three seconds after he'd been released. Then he whirled and struck at Bruce's neck, and it was sheer instinct that had Bruce throwing up a forearm to shield himself. Sharp teeth sank into his flesh, and Bruce swallowed curses of pain. "Let go, John," he ordered as blood ran down his arm. "Let go." He saw the muscles in the boy's neck tense and managed to clamp his other hand to the back of the child's head just in time. The puncture wounds were bad enough; only his hand forcing John's face close against his skin prevented the boy from ripping out half the flesh of his forearm. John snarled through his mouthful of meat and blood.
"Dammit, John, let GO!" It fucking hurt. It was like getting bitten by Killer Croc, except worse, because he could fight back against a Rogue, but he couldn't exactly punch his foster child. "DAMMIT!"
The commotion was drawing almost everyone back into the hall.
"Oh my God!" Stephanie cried, running to help.
"Tranquilizer!" Bruce ordered. It was Alfred who eventually located and administered one strong enough to send John groggily to his knees. He kept his jaws clamped on Bruce's arm until he had completely lost consciousness, and only then were they able to free Bruce from his attacker at last. He wasn't the only one swearing when the injury became fully visible.
John was laid on his bed with an exhausted Cassandra standing guard; Bruce's injury was treated. Duke, who was looking after the younger children by now, reported that they seemed on edge and unhappy, but not overly upset or even worried about their bird brother.
"What triggered it?" Bruce demanded.
"I don't know!" Stephanie cried. "He started asking for you as soon as he saw me, like he'd been waiting."
Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, his mind going in circles. 'He can't stay here. He can't- Who do I-? What do I...?' One thing was clear - the fangs had to go. "Where's my phone?"
The various arrangements Bruce made included having the children moved to his brownstone in town. Alfred and Cassandra were to accompany them, but more caretakers were needed, especially for John. Damian and Duke looked so unhappy about the prospect that Bruce made it clear he didn't expect them to make the commitment, and he knew without asking that Tim would feel the same. Although Stephanie agreed to serve for maybe a week or two more and drop in after that for occasional visits and babysitting, she understandably did not want to parent the birds full-time.
A reluctant call to the Justice League netted Bruce a rotation of caretakers - although none of the League members would be able to look after the birds long-term, most of them were willing to spend at least one day a week helping Alfred and Cassandra with the children until John's condition improved. Some of them also mentioned recruiting their protégés for the same purpose, though Bruce cautioned them to be careful about it - he didn't want word getting back to Dick and causing more stress for his eldest son.
"But you know, Bruce, there's only so much we can do," Clark pointed out. "John...needs a lot of help that none of us are equipped to give. He's been getting worse over time, not better."
"I'm working on it," Bruce said shortly. "In the meantime...I've been talking to J'onzz." The Martian had been brought up as a candidate for the League during the aftermath of Barbatos's attack on the multiverse, and Bruce would have finalized his vote by now if he hadn't been so damn busy with the children. He hated telepathy and was not at all comfortable with a mind-reader in his house or his cave or any of his children's heads, but he was desperate. "He said he'll come tomorrow."
"All right. I just...I'm worried, Bruce."
"And you think I'm not?" Bruce snapped.
"Johnny's not the only one I'm worried about."
Bruce hung up. He knew he shouldn't have, but all the important information had been exchanged and he couldn't stand hearing his best friend accuse him of failure anymore.
When all the phone calls were done, Bruce tried to go back to sleep, but John's tranquilizers soon wore off. Bruce knew they did because he could hear the boy screaming in the hallway.
The others tried everything they could think of to distract John and get him occupied with anything that wasn't trying to kill Bruce, but nothing worked. When they wouldn't let him near Bruce's room, he shrieked and lashed out, sometimes at people, other times at the house. Everyone soon donned armor and took turns trying to keep John contained, watching over the other children, and starting the daunting task of securing Wayne Manor from John's tantrums.
Doors were locked; breakable items were put away; then, when he demonstrated that he could use anything and everything either as a weapon or just to trash for the sake of destruction, everything that wasn't immediately needed was put away. More child locks were added, not just to the standard cabinets containing hazardous substances. Padding was put over the walls.
Through it all, Peter and Jack played quietly and unhappily, like they'd been resigned to weathering a natural disaster. When Damian, at one point, demanded that they get their brother under control, and Stephanie, at another point, begged the same thing with literal tears in her eyes, they had the same response: "[chirp-chirp] dead."
"He's NOT DEAD, why would you say that?!"
Bruce finally came storming in. John, whose eyes had practically glazed over as he continued to struggle like some kind of zombie warrior, flew at him with refreshed fire. Bruce caught him and dragged him down to the cave, hoping that a sparring session of sorts would expend the rest of his energy. He would not strike the child, but he would defend himself as he allowed John to attack until he was satisfied.
He was wrong; the child continued to fight like he was possessed, ceaselessly charging at the armored figure with sharp teeth and claw-like fingers. Bruce wasn't able to actively teach any moves, so he tried to teach by example instead, telegraphing his moves as well as he could. John even picked up on a few of them, but most of his attacks were still thoughtless and animal-like.
It went on and on. Bruce had to pin John down just to give himself a water break. He tried dribbling a bit of water into the boy's mouth as well - John swallowed once, but the next mouthful of water was viciously spat at Bruce. Bruce sighed, set down the bottle, let the boy up, and was instantly defending himself once again. He was as exhausted and bruised as if he'd been sparring with the older Dick Grayson.
John's body gave out before his inflamed spirit did. He lay on the battered practice mats, snarling in frustration, twitching as he tried to attack but couldn't make his limbs obey. Since he'd already been drugged once that day and would need to be again that night, Bruce didn't want to tranq him yet again, but John wasn't making it easy. He snapped his teeth every time Bruce reached for him, even to give him water or food. Bruce finally scrounged up some dental-grade wax and forced it onto John's fangs, creating a shield of sorts. John gnashed his teeth at him furiously, but even his successful nips now bounced off harmlessly as Bruce picked him up and carried him back upstairs.
Bruce got a break, but the madness continued. After John lay catatonic on the carpet for about 45 minutes, his eyes half-open, he dragged himself upright. His bird brothers, who'd been playing nearby, glanced at him, but he ignored them, and they soon looked away. John accepted food at last, though he flung it down and chewed it off the floor rather than a plate; when they tried to correct him, he jerked away from the food entirely. "BBBATT'MMAAANN!" Then he was off in search of Bruce again, his voice hoarse and ragged from screaming.
It was like that for the entire day and evening. John ripped at his own clothes so much that they taped mittens over his hands and took the opportunity to re-apply the wax that he'd yanked off earlier. Now disarmed of both his teeth and his fingernails, he had to get more creative about causing destruction. When he wasn't shrieking for Bruce or trying to knock things over or hit people, he'd catch bits of his clothes on anything that protruded, like a cabinet knob or doorknob, and jerk so that the clothes ripped; they finally covered his latest outfit with thick plastic. Since he'd consumed so little food and water, he wasn't eliminating much, but when he did, he never went to the bathroom or even indicated that he had to go, so there was that to deal with, too.
By the time night fell, John looked like a wild animal, Damian was packing to leave, Tim was apartment shopping online, Stephanie and Duke had already escaped to patrol, Cassandra was in tears, and Alfred was drinking brandy straight from the bottle rather than bothering to mix it with his tea. Bruce just felt completely numb.
TBC
A/N: According to the wikis I looked at, Bruce's brownstone was destroyed at some point during the Zero Year storyline, but I know he lived in one, I guess a different one, during the Arkham Manor arc.