The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 3 (rough draft)
A/N: HEY, SO. I no longer have any word processor that preserves my formatting (I do have a new copy of MS Office, but I can't install it yet because I still don't know whether or not I'll have to exchange my new computer for one that's aware that its OS is, in fact, legit *sigh*), so
**THIS CHAPTER LOST ALL ITS ITALICS**!
Please keep that in mind as you read and wonder why certain words that would sound better emphasized are not, and why the dialogue in non-English languages is not distinguished in any way.
o.o.o
Jason pulled up in front of one of his safehouses in a middle-class area of town. None of the birds were asleep, but they were all slumped, quiet and glassy-eyed, worn out from their ordeals.
"Okay, kiddos. Out of the car, we're home." When he circled around and opened the car door, Peter screamed and tried to bite him. Jackson looked like the only reason he wasn't running was because his brothers wouldn't be able to keep up. John looked basically dead, except for the tight grip he had on his brothers' sleeves.
Jason eventually got them out by bribing Peter with a small piece of chocolate and bodily scooping out John once Peter was clear; Jackson was dragged along. The youngest boy was nervous and twitchy as Jason unlocked the door, turned on the lights, and herded them all in.
It was a small two-bedroom house. The younger boys immediately set off in opposite directions to explore and were brought up short by John's grip. His head hung as he silently stood stretched between them in almost a crucifixion pose until his brothers held a twittered conference and then headed toward the kitchen as a group. None of them had spoken any recognizable language since they'd been reunited.
"You can have some more shakes, but let's wait on real food." Jason handed the birds another set of nutrient-rich drinks and then ushered them toward the bathroom. "You guys are disgusting and filthy, and tracking Joker's blood all over my safehouse is not acceptable. Bathtime."
"Look but don' touch?" Jackson taunted him bitterly.
"Not like that kid, come on. If any of you want help, I'll give it. You don't, I'll stay out 'til you're dressed. Pete, don't eat the soap; seriously?"
The sound of running bathwater prompted John to blink and then curl up on the floor with his hands over his head, keening softly in fear.
"Hey, Johnny, it's okay. No one's gonna hurt you; Jackson - Warble - is right here to make sure. You hear me?"
He tried picking up John's hand and easing it into the water to demonstrate that it was comfortably warm, but John didn't respond, and when Jason looked at his face, the teen looked like he'd completely checked out. "Geez... Jack, help me."
He directed Jackson to scrub the dried blood from John's body with a washcloth as Jason worked on his hair. Peter, meanwhile, had thrown off his clothes, yanked the knob to seal the tub drain, and was now giggling as he crouched in the steadily rising water.
Jason didn't have time to deal with him. Once John was clean, Jason hauled him out and wrapped him in towels. "I'm gonna go get some clothes for you guys," he told Jackson, who kept eyeing him warily as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.
By the time he came back, Peter had contentedly fallen asleep in the tub full of warm, nasty bathwater. He woke up and shrieked in protest when Jason unplugged the drain, then snatched the shower head when Jason pulled it down and hugged it to his chest.
He wouldn't let go. Jason, with a lot of internal deep sighs, managed to wash the teen's hair and rinse out the shampoo with water from the sink, then ran a washcloth over the remaining loosened grime on his younger self's body. Peter seemed to have no objection, but he refused to relinquish the shower head. Jason looked at Jack and threw up his arms in exasperation; the younger boy made a soft noise of amusement.
It was only when goosebumps began to rise on Peter's back and he started shivering that he finally began to look uncertain. Even then, he curled around the shower head, desperate for the warm water still flowing down his front even as the shivering from his cold back increased.
Jason unfolded a towel and dangled it invitingly. Peter eyed it, considering. Jackson shut the water off, and Peter screeched. He fumbled at the faucet again, but Jason managed to get the towel over him before he could turn the water back on. Peter hugged the towel desperately like he'd been hugging the shower head; Jason pulled him out of the tub and tossed another towel over him like a blanket. "There. You're not gonna be cold if you let go, I promise."
Jason then dressed John. The teen had finally come out of his dissociative episode, but was still as motionless as a doll. Jason helped Peter into a set of clothes, too (T-shirts and boxers fresh out of a package; all his pants were too big for them), then looked at Jack. "You want these guys in here or out there while you shower?"
"Scram," Jackson said, with less heat than usual.
"Okay. Call if they cause trouble." Jason made sure there was another outfit and a fresh towel laid out for the youngest boy, then left, shutting the door on the three birds.
He busied himself in the kitchen, warming up some soup, until the boys came out again, Peter galloping around in curiosity and Jackson pulling an unresponsive John along. All three soon clustered in the kitchen, practically drooling at the smell of soup.
"Easy on the solids for a while," Jason warned his younger self, who'd been kept on a mostly-liquid diet at the asylum. Peter hissed at him, but set upon the soup eagerly when a bowl of it was set before him.
Peter slurped up his entire serving in about one minute and then made a grab for Jackson's. The younger boy launched himself half across the table to close his jaws over Peter's shoulder in a warning bite. In seconds, it had degenerated into a bloody wolf battle. John sat still and silent, food untouched, as Jason, who was fortunately still wearing body armor, struggled to keep the younger ones apart.
Peter ended up in a corner, gnawing on a paperback book like a freaking dog as John listlessly clung to him; Jackson was storming up and down, raging in a mix of bird language, English, and ASL.
"This is nuts," Jason muttered.
Peter soon fell asleep right there on the floor. When Jason made to take a blanket over, Jackson raced to intercept, cursing at him until Jason retreated. Jackson grabbed a couple of totally different blankets and covered his brothers with them. Then he sat there, staring belligerently at Jason.
"...I'm not gonna hurt you guys."
"You sell us?" Jackson asked in sign language.
"What?"
"No money."
"Look, I don't mind giving out money to desperate people, but I'm not gonna drop a hundred bucks in your hand every time you ask."
"No," Jackson said aloud, impatiently. "We got no money. Whatchu want for this?" He gestured around at the house. "You touch 'em," he nodded at his brothers, "I kill you. You change your min' 'bout fuckin' me, don' let 'em see."
"Quit offering, I will shoot anyone who touches you, Jackie."
The boy narrowed his eyes.
"Your middle name's Jackson, right?"
"..."
Jason knew that street kids would never believe in getting something for nothing, unless it was more obviously charity than this; sometimes not even then. "Anyway, I know you have no money, and I don't put up with scum who sell or use kids. I used to be a street kid myself - I swore I'd help other kids so they wouldn't be as bad off as I was. If you're so grateful, though, I could use a set of little eyes and ears, someone who can go unnoticed where I can't. You pick up any interesting tidbits, you pass along the info to me. Got it?"
Jackson relaxed slightly. "Li'l spy."
"If you're up for it."
"Yes boss."
Jason shifted. It was going to be a long, boring night; he was basically on babysitting duty, since he didn't feel comfortable leaving the troubled teens alone and there was no one else he knew whom they'd tolerate keeping an eye on them. "You want some real food? Couldn't offer it earlier, I know Pete would've thrown a fit that he can't have any." Jackson frowned again. "Peter," Jason clarified, pointing. "That's his middle name. And zombie over there is John."
Jackson turned his frown onto his brothers and made chirping and cawing sounds. John twitched, but otherwise didn't react.
"Oi," Jason asked curiously as he went to the kitchen, "is that a language? All the bird sounds. Are you just twittering for the heck of it, or are you actually saying stuff?"
Jackson didn't answer, instead starting to get to his feet, brought up short by John's fist tightening in his shirt, and sinking back down again in resignation. "Whatchu makin'?"
"Just pasta. Quick and easy."
Jason got busy with his task, and calling across half the house was kind of a pain, so he didn't speak again until he came over to serve the meal. He handed the heartier serving to Jackson, who wolfed it down, and the plainer pasta to John, who ignored it.
"Come on, buddy," Jason coaxed. "I mashed it up so it'll be easier on your stomach. Just a few bites."
Jackson, watching keenly, smacked Jason's hand away before it reached John's face, but then he took up the bowl and started to spoon bites into John's mouth himself, coaxing in bird language. John's mouth and throat worked very slowly, his eyes distant for a minute. Then his focus sharpened a little and, though he made no move to feed himself, he was a little more cooperative in accepting what his little brother offered.
Jason felt weird as he watched. In a way, this was him and his own brothers, a faint creepy resemblance paired with jarring differences. He would never cuddle in a pile like this with Dick and Tim. He had never imagined that vivacious, sunny Dick could be so shattered, or that aristocratic, aloof Tim could be so street-hardened and mother-henning all at once. John acted like a telepath had broken his mind; Jackson like he'd been ground into the cracks in the pavement of Gotham's dark streets; Peter, whimpering in his sleep, like he'd gone feral. Jason had experienced his own share of suffering, but his family and his future...they looked weirdly bright compared to the devastated young lives before him.
An hour later, Jason was working on his laptop when his younger self awakened with a chilling scream. Jackson tried to soothe him, but Peter kept screaming, and Jason went over to try his hand. Peter seemed to relax at his touch and actually leaned into him, but then Jason noticed that John, although still staring into space, had silent tears streaming down his cheeks and was shaking, breath coming in gasps. "Aw, crap. Johnny, hey, nothing's wrong, Pete just had a nightmare."
There was no response.
Jackson glared at Jason and ordered with his hands, "Look away."
Jason obeyed, still cradling Peter, who had nestled into him like a (very large) puppy. He peeked out of the corner of his eye and saw Jackson pressing against his older brother, crooning. After a moment, John's resistance broke and he collapsed onto his back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Jackson carefully lay on him, heartbeat to heartbeat and palms to palms. He nuzzled his face into John's neck, still making those soothing bird noises. After several long minutes, John finally relaxed, eyes drifting shut.
Jackson exhaled softly, then glanced at Jason and realized that the vigilante was now staring at him openly. He leaped up and back with a hiss. "We're not fuckin'!"
"I know. It's fine. He was having a panic attack, you know how to calm him down."
Jackson stared at him warily, like he wasn't used to people not automatically making dirty assumptions.
"You did good."
After a minute, Jackson plopped down on the floor and muttered something in bird language. Peter popped out of Jason's lap and romped over to his younger brother, grabbing him and manhandling him in a worried inspection. Jackson looked too tired to resist. They twittered back and forth for a long time, almost half an hour, before Jackson drifted to sleep with his head pillowed on Peter's leg.
Peter looked up at Jason and motioned proudly, not in ASL but in gestures that reminded Jason of the way Cass 'spoke' most naturally, "Mine, my treasure; isn't he wonderful?"
"He's pretty amazing, surviving everything he did." And then, because any Jason Todd from any universe could use all the encouragement he could get, "You're amazing, too, Jay."
Peter studied him thoughtfully. "We in small bad places; you out? Safe?"
"You're never going back to Arkham again. We just want to help you guys."
"Good you, I don't know why." Peter turned his attention back to his sleeping little brother, and Jason resumed working.
TBC
A/N: I'm sorry for the delay... I have been working on this fic a little bit at a time every day during my breaks at work, but I was having so many digital issues and real life stuff going on that it took aaaaaaaaaalllllllll this time for me to have a chance to get the drafts off my tablet and onto a reliable computer to work on. (I have an appointment this weekend with a specialist to recover all the data on one of my flash drives. I think my USB hub needs to be replaced, it's old and I should have thought to buy a new one when I bought new flash drives a couple of weeks ago.) The main story is still on hiatus, because things are so crazy and I've been stressed and frustrated.