*PLEASE READ THIS STORY ON AO3
The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Chapter 31 - Surrender
[rough draft 2]
Bruce was surprised to get home and find Tim and John in the Batcave, with neither Harley nor Selina anywhere in sight. Tim was working at the computer; John was curled up in a nearby chair, facing the opposite direction, his hand in his mouth. He watched Bruce approach with wide eyes, but didn't move.
"What happened?" Bruce asked warily as he pulled back his cowl, noting that the child wasn't wearing any of his protective gear and also that he wasn't doing anything at the moment to warrant it.
Tim finally turned to face him, taking a deep breath. "Okay. So. How much do you know already?"
"About?"
"You know. What John and Harley got up to while you were out."
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "What did they get up to?"
Tim shifted uneasily. "Yeah, so, maybe don't kill Harley, because John's been weirdly good since she left, and also don't kill Selina, because I was on the phone with her all night while we were running around town trying to figure out where they went, and she honestly feels terrible that they escaped on her watch."
Even though John was obviously safe and sound, Bruce's blood was still running cold. "What do you mean 'escape'? Why was Selina running around town?! What HAPPENED?" He regretted his thunderous tone when John flinched.
"Bruce." Tim stood up. "He's fine. Everything's all good now. Okay?"
"Timothy."
"Bruce. Who are you planning to punch?"
Bruce forced himself to unclench his fists. "...I won't get angry. Please tell me."
Tim perched on the arm of John's chair and rested his arm across the top of it, the pose casual yet protective. "So Harley ran off with John while Selina was distracted - with the Robin Manual, I told you that thing is way too long - and they basically did the Harley-Quinn-and-a-nine-year-old version of partying to blow off steam. I caught up with them at Robinson Park and decided to just stay out of sight and observe, since John seemed happier with her than he's been with any of us."
Bruce nearly choked at the unfairness of it.
"They eventually made their way to Trigate Bridge. John jumped off."
At the look on Bruce's face, John hid under Tim's cape.
"I caught him. It was fine. I was actually only, like, ten feet away by then because they were making me nervous walking around the edge like that. Anyway, so he jumped off, I caught him, Harley told him suicide is not the answer, and he's been like this ever since."
John peeked out to sign, "I do not want to die."
"You're not going to die," Bruce snapped. He turned away and paced in an agitated circle, scrubbing his hands through his hair in distress. Tim waited quietly. Bruce finally halted and demanded, "Did you check him over when you came here?"
"There's not a scratch on him, Bruce."
Bruce looked at John, who seemed frightened and resigned. Bruce was beginning to think that his child being afraid of him was worse than his child hating him. "When was the last time he ate?"
"Harley fed him a bunch of junk food."
"Are you staying the night?"
Tim barked out a laugh. "No, I just came to drop him off. Now that you're here and have my report, I'm leaving." He stood up, detached his cape, and gently draped the rest of it over John, who looked up at him pleadingly. "I'll see you later, Johnny," Tim murmured, stooping to kiss the top of his head. Then he moved past Bruce without a goodbye and donned a new cape before mounting his motorcycle and taking off.
Bruce looked at John, who shrank back into the chair but still was not screaming or attacking or trying to hurt himself. "...John, I need to change out of the suit and I need you to stay in sight. Please come with me." When he approached the chair, John scrambled out of it. The boy continued to warily back away from his advance, and in that manner, he herded John toward the changing room.
"All right. Stay in this room. Stay." As Bruce shed the Batsuit, John put his hand back in his mouth. Bruce didn't dare take a real shower, which would put him at a disadvantage if John turned wild and murderous again. He simply rinsed off the worst of the sweat, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being stared at while he did so. He had realized at one point that if the children had often been denied clothing, they probably had an eroded sense of their own and others' bodily privacy. That was something he would need to address, but not now, when it was a miracle that John was being quiet and non-destructive.
The boy continued to gently bite his own hand, exploring the sensation of having proper human teeth again.
Bruce finished in under a minute and put on a layer of armor, then some clothes. "All right. Thank you for waiting. We can go upstairs now." He stopped by the kitchen refrigerator and pulled out a nutrition shake, which he stuck a straw into and held out to John. After a long moment, the boy took it. Bruce pulled out a ready-made protein shake for himself. Man and boy watched each other silently as they drank.
A slurping sound finally indicated that John had finished his. "Give me the bottle, I'll rinse it out." Bruce had absolutely no idea why his son had become so subdued after days of being a shrieking, bloodthirsty animal, but whatever the reason, it was a huge relief. John was skittish but fairly obedient, allowing himself to be guided up the stairs.
In the family's personal wing, Bruce paused. "John, we need to stay together tonight. I have to keep an eye on you. Would you like to sleep in your room or in mine?"
After a long pause, John pointed.
"...All right. We will sleep in my room, but we will stop by yours first to get your things."
As soon as Elephant was offered to him, John grabbed it and hugged it tight. He followed when Bruce carried the rest to the master suite. "John, do you want a bath, yes or no?"
The boy did not answer.
"You do not have to take a bath right now, but you do have to change clothes." The ones John was wearing were covered with paint and grime from his night on the town with Harley.
Still no response. When Bruce finally reached to change him, John squeezed his eyes shut and started up a frightened keening sound, but didn't resist.
"I'm not going to hurt you...please stop that, John, I will not hurt you..."
John finally stood in clean pajamas, trembling a little, clutching Elephant tight.
"Johnny. Let's go brush your teeth, chum." The boy's teeth hadn't been cleaned in days. John stood miserably at the sink and would not hold the brush, but he didn't resist when Bruce very carefully tipped his head up and brushed his teeth for him, at least as well as he could when the boy kept clenching his jaws on the brush. Bruce sighed. "Okay, spit. ...Good boy." He handed over a paper cup of water. "No, don't drink it! Swish it in your mouth and then spit again, you know how to do this. You can have water to drink afterward."
John watched as Bruce brushed his own teeth, then scampered ahead of him back to the bedroom. He rushed immediately to the mattress that was still in the corner and stood on it, leaning back against the wall.
Bruce picked up the pile of picture books he had chosen at random from the children's room. "Which one do you want?" he asked, fanning them out.
John ducked his head and shifted Elephant a little higher to cover his mouth instead of answering.
Bruce looked at the book on top. He didn't recognize it, but it had insignias on it indicating that it had won awards. The picture on the front cover was of a dancer in a bright red costume that looked like something Dick and therefore John would like to wear. "I will choose if you don't want to choose."
He set the other books aside and turned the one with the dancer to face John. "Firebird by Misty Copeland and Christopher Myers." He opened the book to the first page. "[*censored because FFN is stupid*]"
Since John was still standing, Bruce awkwardly remained standing, too. "[*censored because FFN is stupid*]"
John showed no sign of enjoyment, but his eyes watched Bruce closely throughout the story, occasionally flicking to the pictures.
"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]" Bruce closed the book. "The End."
John watched him.
"..." It didn't seem right to continue with Peter Pan when the other children weren't present, and John didn't seem like he cared about being read to, anyway. Plus, Bruce was tired from a lack of sleep the past few days, his recent rescue mission, and the knowledge that he had a long vigil ahead, since he didn't dare sleep until he was sure John was asleep first. "Well. ...Good night, John." He pointed. "I will be working at my desk. You can sleep, but you don't have to. Just don't cause any damage, and let me know if you need anything."
He plugged in the night light and turned on his desk lamp, then switched off the overhead light. He sat down more heavily than he'd meant to and opened his laptop.
At one point, his phone purred. He checked it to find a news article that had been sent to him about a long-lost golden cat statue being mysteriously returned to the museum it had been stolen from years ago. He gritted his teeth and put his phone away without replying, ignoring the apology for now. The risks Harley had taken with John's safety hadn't been Selina's fault, and everything had worked out surprisingly well in the end, but he still couldn't forgive either of them yet.
After a silent half hour, John finally sat down, still holding Elephant and watching Bruce closely. Bruce continued to work. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, but he forced himself to keep typing and reading. He had to stay vigilant; John's mood could change from docile to belligerent at any moment. ...He really hoped that John fell asleep soon.
o.o.o
[chirp-chirp] sat in the not-dark. The little light and Master's small light were glowing soft, the sun was trying to peek through the curtains. Master sat asleep in his chair, his nose making sleepy growls, his whole body saying "Tired tired sad tired." Maybe it was pretend sleep, or maybe it was real sleep. It didn't matter.
They kept saying the gentle and safe would be forever. He thought they were wrong, but he had done everything he could to make Master break, and Master hadn't done it. Either they were right and Master was not Master, or [chirp-chirp] would never, ever win.
The pink-and-blue woman with poisoned too-white skin, she was right. Master would not kill little birds who wanted to die, because that was not fun. And he would not kill [chirp-chirp] who wanted to live, because [chirp-chirp] was his favorite and it was more fun to hurt [chirp-chirp] than kill him. He always won. [chirp-chirp] always lost. Always. Always. [chirp-chirp] couldn't win, so all he could do was be sad.
...Or be happy.
...
Master was being Daddy right now. Maybe they were right and Master was dead and Daddy was gentle forever. Maybe they were wrong and Daddy would Laugh and be Master again.
If that happened, [chirp-chirp] would hurt and fight again. ...Yes. He could never escape, he lost, so he belonged to Batman. If Batman was Daddy, that was okay. If Batman was Master, [chirp-chirp] would fight again. But he would not fight Daddy anymore - he was tired.
He took his feathers off. Feathers were for warm and safe, and he didn't know if he was safe, so he took them off. He went to the window, through the crack in the curtains, and looked out at the sun and the grass and the trees that were pretty and happy. 'Mamma,' he thought. 'Papà.' His father who loved him so much, his mother who loved him so much, they were dead now. They had been dead for a long time, they couldn't help him or love him anymore. He missed them so so so so so so much.
"Mamma. Papà." He spoke to them in bird words and hand words, because mouth words were too hard now. "Goodbye. I love you. Goodbye." They were his old flock, them and Zitka and Pop Haly and all the others, and [trill]. He had a new flock now, if [caw] or [warble] or any of Batman's flockmates were still alive like they said.
Even if they weren't, there was still Elephant and Daddy. [chirp-chirp]'s old self and his old flock were dead; he had to be with his new flock, he had to be a new self. '...Goodbye, Dick,' he told the little boy who had been taken away from his burning home and then hurt and hurt and hurt until he turned into a bird. "Goodbye. Rest. I will be strong for us now."
Behind him, Batman stirred, and he flinched. Batman was waking up. He heard Batman's footsteps coming, and he pressed against the window and shook, trying so hard not to look back.
He couldn't look back. Looking back would mean he was still fighting, but he couldn't fight anymore, because he had given up. He was naked and alone with this man, and now he would know. If this man was Master, he would be pleased and tie [chirp-chirp] and maybe hurt him. If this man was Daddy, then he would be upset and cover [chirp-chirp] up again, because he liked for his bird [chirp-chirp]- he liked for his human boy John to be covered and warm and safe. Now he would know-
Hands. Big hands touching him, pulling him away from the window, [chirp-chirp] was so afraid, but they were gentle hands. They were Daddy's hands, pulling feathers- clothes over his skin, warm and safe. Big hands not hurting him. These were Daddy's hands, and they were not touching a bird, they were touching a boy named John. Batman still had his Daddy face, worried and tired and not Smiling at all.
"John, please keep your clothes on."
[chirp-chirp] couldn't say it with anything but his body, so he did. "I give me. What will you do with me?"
"No, John. ~~ you hungry? ~~ you thirsty?"
[chirp-chirp] was going to say no, but then he realized that his mouth was dry. "Thirsty," he said with his hands.
Daddy went away into the water room. He came back with a cup. There was water in it, very clean, and when [chirp-chir- when John drank it, it was cold and good.
He went to lie down on Daddy's nest- his bed. He would sleep close to Daddy, and if he woke up because Master was hurting him or tying him, he would know-
Daddy didn't come to his own bed. He went to sit in the chair and make click-click-clack sounds again.
John frowned and went to try to climb into Daddy's lap, but Daddy pushed him away gently. "~~ you're ~~ tired, John, you ~~ sleep ~~ more. You're safe."
"I will sleep close to you," John said with his body. But when Daddy led him to the bed and pushed him down gently, he didn't lie down, too. He covered John with a blanket and sat on the edge and started to sing, moving his fingers through John's feath- his hair, and that felt good. Master never sang like this, only Daddy. This was good.
John liked anything Daddy sang, but there were two he liked best. One was the "I'm sorry I made you cry" song, and one was the "Sshh, my precious one, you are safe" song. John wanted the second one, so he whistled it.
Daddy sighed "I am uncomfortable" but sang the right song, anyway. "[*censored because FFN is stupid*]"
[chirp-chirp] woke up. ...John, not [chirp-chirp]. He had fallen asleep while Daddy sang, but it was all right, because nothing bad had happened. Daddy was sleeping on the other side of the room and [chirp-chirp] was here in Daddy's big nest and his whole body, nothing hurt at all.
Something beeped and Daddy jerked awake. He looked like he thought he'd been tied, but he wasn't. He looked around and then at [chir- at John. They stared at each other.
John lay back on the feathers- on the blankets. He couldn't believe it. Tears were coming and coming out of his eyes, and he didn't know why because it was still Daddy, not Master. Master was gone. Daddy who loved little ones was here. The bird-who-was-a-boy-again had slept here in this bed with no flockmates, no brothers to guard him, but he wasn't naked, he wasn't hurt or tied, he was warm and covered and...he was...safe.
o.o.o
Around noon, Bruce dragged himself off the divan because John seemed to be up for good this time. The boy chirped at and petted Elephant, then approached Bruce, who stepped out of reach. "Good morning, John."
"Good morning, Batman."
"John, listen to me, this is very important: you can't call me Batman when anyone who's not family is watching. It's better not to get in the habit, so please just call me 'B.' " He went over it again until John made the correct sign for the letter. "Good. Try it again." He demonstrated.
"...Good morning, B."
"Very good. Good job." He still couldn't risk a shower, so he gave himself a sponge bath, trying once again to ignore being watched. Halfway through, he couldn't take it anymore and wrapped a towel around his waist. "All right, John, listen, it's not good to stare at people when they're naked, or using the toilet. You shouldn't watch other people, and no one should watch you like that, either." He gave the boy a sensory toy as a distraction, which half worked - John still sort of eyed him sideways, but kept getting sidetracked by the toy's soft blinking lights and squishy texture.
"All right, John," Bruce said when he was as clean as he could get and dressed for the day. "Do you want to keep wearing those pajamas, or do you want to change into fresh clothes?"
The boy hesitated for a long time. "Clothes."
"All right. Let's go to your room, and you can pick out what you want to wear."
Once John was attired in a pair of yellow short shorts with white polka dots, a sequined tank top, and his fringed jacket, Bruce led him down to the kitchen and then looked around apprehensively. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a protein shake for himself. "John, would you like one of the meals Alfred left for us?"
John crept close and studied the contents of the refrigerator. "Hhmmmah," he finally said.
"You want hummus?"
"Hhmmah."
"All right." Bruce toasted some bagels, brought them over to the table, and cut them up into bite-sized pieces as John watched in anticipation. He dipped a butter knife into the container of hummus and spread it over the first bagel bit before reaching over. John seized it almost before it even touched his plate and crammed it into his mouth. Bruce felt his eyes stinging with actual tears at the sight of his son eating.
He put another bit of hummus-and-bagel onto John's plate, then another. When he started to do the same with a fourth, he frowned when John immediately reached for it. He pulled it back before the boy could grasp it. John glared at him, mouth so stuffed with food that he could barely work his jaws to chew it.
"Finish what you have, and then I'll give you more," Bruce said, setting the piece of bagel on his own unused plate instead.
"crow" John pouted, his voice muffled.
Bruce got a few more bagel pieces ready with hummus by the time John had swallowed his current mouthful. Bruce put one of them on the boy's plate. "Finish that first, and then I will give you more." He sipped at his shake.
After a while, once all the bagel pieces were ready and John was working on his current bite, Bruce pulled out his phone and started recording. "John."
The boy looked at him.
"Are you eating right now?"
"Eat."
"Yes. And you are not screaming or throwing things or trying to hurt anyone."
"More please."
Bruce, still filming, set another bite on his plate. "Johnny, would you like to say something to Dick?"
"Ddi'ckk."
"Or Peter and Jack? What would you like to say to the people who are watching this video?"
"[caw] [warble] I love you miss you," John twittered.
"You are being very good today, John. If you keep behaving like this, maybe you can see your brothers again." 'And...maybe I won't have to pretend to die after all...'
"More please."
Bruce gave him another bagel bit, hesitated, then started to reach for the boy. John startled away. Bruce jerked back in response, but before he could completely withdraw, John's shoulders relaxed slightly and he caught hold of Bruce's hand, setting it on his head. Bruce caressed his hair gently. John's eyes drifted half-closed and he hummed in pleasure. Then he pushed Bruce's hand away. "More please."
"All right." Bruce looked at his son: chewing on a bite of bread and hummus, a mask scar shadowing his eyes and a whip scar slashed up his cheek, long hair growing black at the root of all the green, eyes slightly distant as he entertained his own thoughts during the pause. "...Johnny. I love you." 'So much. I love you so much I can't stand it. I would do anything for you.'
"Bbboosse," John acknowledged solemnly. Then, "I want apple."
"All right, let me find one for you." Bruce stopped recording and then, not allowing himself to have any second thoughts, sent the video to everyone else who loved his birds. Then he put his phone away and went to find an apple for his son.
o.o.o
John ate and ate and ate. He ate until he started looking sick, until, even though he kept asking for food, he stared heavily at each bite and looked like he was forcing himself to eat it, chewing slowly and grimacing.
"John," Bruce finally said, not handing over the next requested bite, "you look like you're finished eating."
"Hungry."
"No, I don't think you're hungry anymore."
John stared at his plate for a long time, looking like he was about to cry. Then he stood up as if preparing for his own execution and signed, "Seatbelt."
Bruce swallowed. "John..." He knelt and gently set his hands on the boy's shoulders. "We will have to practice with seatbelts eventually, but not today. I know you're very tired and anxious, so no seatbelts today. We can just relax."
"..."
"...Let's go brush our teeth, and then we can play or watch whatever you want."
They spent about an hour wandering slowly through the gardens, John gently touching colorful blossoms, Bruce just drinking in the sight of his child being...not happy, exactly, but not a hopeless, dangerous mess, either. He took some more videos and photos, particularly pleased with one of John cooing at a ladybug that had come to rest on his arm.
They finally went inside. Bruce put on the movie John asked for, then stared in amazement when the little boy got off the couch, went to Bruce's chair, and climbed into his lap. Bruce reached to stroke his hair; the boy flinched and grabbed Bruce's hand, pulling it around to rest on John's stomach. The boy folded his arms on top of Bruce's as if to hold the hug in place.
'He wants my hands where he can see them,' Bruce realized.
They sat quietly for a while, John watching the movie and Bruce watching John. The boy had shed his jacket while playing in the gardens, and the tank top didn't hide as many of the scars. Bruce couldn't take his eyes away from those cruel marks. "Johnny," Bruce whispered, "What that man did to you was terrible. It was so wrong, John. It was wrong."
John shifted to look up at him. Bruce gently disengaged his hand to point at a scar without touching it. "What he did to you to make this...and this, and this, all of them...he was wrong. It makes me so angry, I want to hurt him for hurting you."
"...I am not bad, I am good, but Bad Laugh Man hurt good me. I am angry, I hurt good you. You are not angry, you are sad, you do not hurt me. Gentle. Why does bad man hurt good boy, why are you not angry at me who hurt you?!"
"I don't know why he hurt you. He's evil and I hate him. I will not hurt you because, no matter how much you hurt me, it is wrong for adults to hurt children. He was wrong, but I am not him. I want you to be safe and happy. I will do my best to make sure you grow up safe and happy, chum."
John shifted upright. He put his arms around Bruce's neck and said into his ear, "Cccall mme sssswee'tt bbird."
"What?"
"Ssswee't bbird. Ccall mme."
"...Is that what...is that what he called you?"
"Yysss."
"No. Johnny, no, I can't call you that."
"Ccall mme sswee't bbird. Ccall mme sswee't-"
"Please."
"Plllease, Ddaddy."
Bruce shut his eyes and held his son close. "...Sweet bird."
The boy shivered.
"John-"
"Mmmore. Mmore, plllease."
"...Sweet bird," Bruce whispered. "I love you, sweet bird. I love you. He is gone forever, I will never let anyone hurt you again, sweet bird. You're my sweet bird, not his. I'd do anything to make you happy, chum."
John hummed. "Iii amm Bboosse' sswee't bbird ssshh'chumm, Ii nno [crow], Ii, I amm Jjjohnnny." He pulled away so he could sign, "It's too hard to talk!"
"It's all right. You did well, chum. You did very well."
"I am not Bad Laugh Man's bird."
"That's right."
"I am strong and good."
Bruce kissed the side of his head. "You are a miracle, Johnny."
"Ha ha ha, Bba'dd Lllaff Mman, I wwin."
TBC