The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Alternate route: Never Adopted - Final chapter (very rough draft)
Harley found it pretty funny that her son could be such a cute mess 'off the clock' and yet so still, serious, and focused when he was shooting a gun.
"Better that time, Petey!" she cheered when his latest shot made it significantly closer to the bull's eye during target practice.
His eyes flicked to her, and he grinned. "Good me."
"Best you," she signed back, cooing.
He could be pretty useful on missions, too. He always seemed to know the exact perfect times to break into Joker laughter and scare the pants off of whoever they were trying to intimidate or interrogate, and the sign language came in handy when they needed to communicate soundlessly or at a distance. He had no qualms about doing whatever needed to be done as long as he was convinced that there was a good enough reason for it, and he was sharp, sometimes picking up on cues or threats before she did, or sniffing out dishonesty that she was oblivious to.
"I love you, Petey."
"Love you, Mom."
None of the Sirens shared Peter's love of books, but they all found it rather pleasant to be read to in his husky, halting voice, or even sometimes in bird language if he wanted to enjoy the story more comfortably. Sometimes he'd lounge in the shade of wide-leafed plants to read for hours; if he was indoors, the cats loved to come and lie on his warm, growing body.
"Why are you so big?!" Harley demanded. "You're my baby, you're supposed to be littler than me!"
Peter grinned and put an arm around each of his brothers, who were both smaller than him; Jackson in particular was nearly dwarfed. "Pumme down!" the youngest bird shouted.
Peter lifted instead, as if working out with weights. Jackson screeched in displeasure; John, his gaze remaining distant, curled up his legs and dangled head-downward.
Selina snapped a quick picture to send to Bruce. He never responded, but the next time she spent a night in his bed, she noticed the photograph framed and sitting among all the other pictures on his nightstand.
xXx
Jackson was deeply immersed, a hacking program running on one computer as he delved deep into restricted files on another and occasionally reached over to make a move on the chess game going on his tablet, when he was interrupted.
"crow!" he screamed when the laptop under his fingertips was abruptly yanked away. He tried to grab it back, but his flailing hands closed on empty air because the vines wrapped around his body were dragging him back. "GIMME MY COMPUTER!"
"No," Ivy snapped. "You've been glued to your screens for sixteen hours straight-"
"PUMME DOWN, BITCH!"
"-you haven't even touched the three meals I've set next to you during that time-"
"FUCK YOU!"
"-and you need to get off the electronics and spend some time outside, now." She gestured, and a vine smacked him across the mouth. "And that's for calling me a bitch. Apologize."
He glowered, tears stinging his eyes, hanging helplessly in vines. "...Sorry."
"Now go outside and play."
"NO!"
The vines started dragging him. He struggled for a minute, then gave up and hung in limp resentment. The vines deposited him in the back garden, all of them retreating except one that remained wrapped around his ankle. He knew it would tighten if he tried to disobey orders, and he knew that injuring or destroying it, or any of Ivy's beloved plants, would earn him a worse punishment than a smack on the mouth. Ivy was more lenient if it was an accident, but the one time he'd thrown a tantrum when he was fourteen and deliberately shredded half her favorite garden, she'd poisoned him with something that made him sick for days. He'd learned his lesson.
Jackson resentfully curled up in the grass and tried to sleep, but his mind was too wired, and he was hot. He finally uncurled again and wandered around, then disabled the security and climbed over the fence. The vine around his ankle eventually reached its limit and released him, but as he walked along the street, he saw every plant he passed turning toward him, spying on him.
He hissed at them and wandered until he reached a playground. He flopped onto a bench and slumped there for a while, arms crossed and glaring. He watched the children playing, the mothers on other benches gossiping. He finally got up and wandered through the equipment, stepping out of the way of a couple of kids chasing each other. He absolutely did not mean to fall asleep in an abandoned, overgrown garden, but that's what he accidentally ended up doing.
He came back home hours later with grass in his hair and dirt streaking his face. "Can I have my computer back now?" he demanded.
"After you eat."
"I can eat while I'm working!"
"You can, but you usually don't."
Grumbling and cursing, Jackson ate some random food out of the refrigerator, then moved a cat out of his desk chair and sat down. He'd lost access to the restricted files by now, but at least the hacking program had finished running.
He got back to work. He'd never admit it to his mother, but after the sunlight and exercise, the nap, and the food, he felt a lot better.
xXx
John started to wander - right out of the lab, onto the streets, all around the city. His mothers thought it might be simple restlessness at first, but when they tried to enlist him as a henchman like Peter was by now, he wandered away from that, too.
He attacked would-be muggers, robbers, and rapists; he brought food and blankets to homeless people. He did tricks to make frightened children smile and led police officers to hidden bodies.
"He gets it from your side of the family, Lina," Harley huffed as she helped Selina drag their son home yet again.
"Marrying into a family of vigilantes doesn't make me one, too."
Later, Ivy said, "Rosebud, you can stay out all night to fight evil if you want, but you have to tell us. We worry a lot when we don't know where you went."
"This city hurts."
The tolerated Bats, particularly Nightwing and Black Bat, started training John, fighting him on the streets and rooftops demonstratively enough for him to pick up moves and tactics. Dick gave him a grapple gun one night and taught him how to use it. Bruce sent an armored suit via Selina, though John refused to wear it until the colors had been changed to sky blue and pink.
"What is wrong with you?" Hood accused Nightwing in exasperation the first time they saw the young birthday cake of a vigilante contentedly grappling his way through a neighborhood.
"I think it looks nice," Nightwing defended.
"You would, Discowing."
John didn't seem to know what to do with a comm when the Bats tried giving him one, and the first time he heard Batman's voice rumbling over the line, he hurled his comm away and refused to accept a replacement. He ignored all visiting Titans and Justice League members except for Starfire and Superman, and even then, he seemed far more interested in playing with the fiery hair and inspecting the S than he was in interacting with the people themselves.
He never introduced himself as anything (he very rarely spoke or even signed on patrol at all), so his vigilante persona was named by social media. Civilians shared anecdotes about him and argued about whether or not he was a Bat. A few children and teenagers were spotted dressing up as him when Halloween came around.
John remained a lone figure on the nighttime streets of Gotham until the evening when he happened to be working near Damian Wayne and Mar'i Grayson, the new Batman and Robin.
The bird watched warily, studying the distant figures. The body language and the size were not right; Batman was not Batman.
The little one...he had seen her before, so colorful and bright like a star, like someone else he knew. It was very, very bad for her to be Batman's new bird, but she was so happy, maybe he wasn't hurting her. Maybe he hadn't started the game yet. The bird didn't want to care, but the little one was so small and precious...
He was afraid to go to her, but she went still and looked at him for a long time, and then...she came to him.
She flew, really flew just like a born-bird. Her hair streamed out long behind her like dark fire, her eyes were hidden behind a mask but it didn't look painful, her red/green/yellow feathers were clean and tidy and new. "Hi, Uncle John."
The bird stared at her. Only one person called him that, and now that he looked at her shape and the way her body moved, he knew her. She was 'Mar'i,' Blue Bat's little one. He had never seen her hair dance like fire before, but other than that, she was the same.
"Hello, Little Star," he greeted.
She smiled and said something. He didn't know what it was, so he was silent. She floated up and kissed his cheek, and it tingled. Then she twittered in a language he knew, "You come (sad) with me you that I like, come with me."
"No," he told her, for she belonged to Batman.
Her little shoulders slumped, but then she straightened. "I stay with you then, you that I like. Uncle John, will you come home for dinner?"
He thought about Little Star safe at home, with mamas and birds and laughing dogs and plants to protect her. "You come home, eat good food."
"No, you come to my home. Eat with me and Mama and Papa and the baby."
He didn't like mamas and papas who would give their little star bird to the Bat. "No. Bad Mama Papa, I take you home and keep you."
"Uncle Johhhhnnn!"
"Names, Robin."
"Oh, hi, Da- Nightwing."
The bird turned around, and saw someone perched watching them. "Blue Bat."
Robin laughed. "He calls you 'Blue Bat'!"
"What does he call you?" Nightwing asked curiously.
"Little Star."
"Aww, perfect."
Robin bounded over to Nightwing and snuggled into his arms. He smiled at the bird. "Robin's just starting out, but I think she's doing a great job."
"..."
"Did she invite you to dinner yet?"
"He wants me to come to Aunt Pam's. He said he wants to steal me from you."
"Hey, get your own Tamaranean to have kids with," Nightwing teased. John simply looked at him, and the man sobered. "Really, though. We'd love for you to come visit. You haven't seen the baby yet, right?"
This time, John used sign language. "Keep baby away from Bat." He grappled away.
That would have been the end of it, except that Batman and Robin noticed the bird stalking them on patrol afterward. Nightwing came to collect his daughter around two in the morning, and when he noticed that they'd been followed home, he left the window open. When Kori got up hours later, she panicked for a moment when she found the crib empty, but then halted in the living room to find Jake curled up asleep in John's arms on the couch. "What food do you like for breakfast?" she asked her husband's younger alternate universe self.
"Good baby," John signed instead of answering the question.
Kori shrugged and went to put some Pop-Tarts into the toaster.
o.o.o
Jackson was sixteen years old when he started considering that perhaps the claim was true that this was a completely different universe than the one he'd been born and tormented in.
He was eighteen years old when he finally worked up the courage to return to Wayne Manor - or, if they were right, to visit it for the first time.
It was Christmas Eve, and most of the family was gathered together for a meal, the majority of them intending to spend the night and at least Christmas Day at the manor. The dining room was as full as it had always been designed for, a rarity in Bruce's lifetime. The patriarch himself was quiet, eating steadily at the head of the table without getting too involved in conversation, but it deeply warmed his heart to hear the lively voices, laughter, and shouts of his children and grandchildren throughout the meal. There were two puppies asleep on his feet. Jason was teasing Damian about Twitter's opinions on the competence of the current Batman compared to the original; little Jake was defending his cousins from his sister and shouting that no powers were allowed at the table; Dick had Tim in a playful headlock for some reason; Cass and Kori were having an enthusiastic conversation in ASL; Duke kept a straight face as he told Terry stories about how crazy the Waynes were, only some of those stories true (the more outrageous ones, in fact); and so on down the entire table.
It was Bruce's phone that alerted him first. Selina, who always insisted on sitting beside him rather than properly at the foot of the table, leaned over his arm to look, and she was the one who first realized what they were seeing. She leaped to her feet with a gasp, scattering annoyed cats.
"What is it, Mom?" Damian asked at once, more than halfway into Batman Mode.
Selina rushed away without answering, and everyone followed her, Bruce quickly assuring worried parents that it was nothing to protect the children from.
Selina drove a golf cart down the long drive until she reached the still so small figure stomping angrily through the snow. "You should have called, kitten, I would have come to meet you."
He ignored her.
"Jack, come on, get on the cart. It's a long walk."
He continued to keep his eyes fixed on the house.
"Jackson, seriously?" She kept pace with him in the golf cart, waiting with an eyebrow raised, until he finally slowed and came to a stop halfway down the drive. He stood there for a long moment, hands clenched. Then he flung himself onto a seat behind Selina and sat rigidly, his arms crossed. "Are you even going to say hello?" she asked.
"..."
"Fine." She pressed her foot against the accelerator. When they neared the house, with the family all waiting in front of the grand front doors, Jackson suddenly clutched one of the poles. He whimpered and then flung himself off the cart.
"Jack!" Selina slammed on the brake, too late. "Tell me, don't just jump off the cart!"
Jackson had scrambled to his feet. He stared at the family for a long moment, though Bruce was not among them. Then he turned away and started to head down the drive again.
"Tim," Tim called out, moving down the stairs.
Jackson halted.
"You came all the way out here to do nothing, and now, what, you're just going to turn around and go all the way back? So productive."
Jackson whirled to face him and stormily raised a middle finger.
"Hey! There're kids here!" Dick called, raising a hand to cover Jake's eyes. The little boy, sitting in his father's arm, patted at Dick's hand on his face.
Jackson stomped around to a side door near the garage and kicked at it. Tim, coming up behind him, rolled his eyes and pressed his hand against the palmprint reader, and the door unlocked itself and swung open.
Jackson stared into the interior of the house for a long moment. Then, slowly, he stepped inside.
He said nothing as he looked around the mud room, then walked to the kitchen and stared for a while at its shining tile and gurgling dishwasher and tidy rows of spices and the pots and pans soaking in the sink. He paced to the living room and stared at the Christmas tree and decorations and the healthy, dozing pets for a while. He went to the doors to the terrace and stared out at the lawn and gardens, immaculate except for the toys and sports balls that hadn't been put away after the games earlier in the day. He turned and paced upstairs, heading straight to the master bedroom.
He'd been followed all this time by most of the family, the children confused and the adults on edge, but now, people began to fall back. It was only Selina and Tim who leaned in the doorway and watched Jackson looking around the bedroom, studying the photographs and clothes and toiletries in confusion, staring for a long time at the bed. When he saw photographs of himself or his bird brothers, he smashed the frames, extracted the pictures, and tucked them into his pockets.
After a while, Jackson slowly came out, pushing past his mother and his older self as if they were furniture. He gazed down the hallway without really seeing it. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and raised his head and screamed, "BatmaaaAAAAANNN!"
He shouted for his old tormentor all the way down the stairs, then halted when he saw Bruce. The older man stood in the entryway to the living room, silent and grim.
Jackson stared at him for a long minute, his breathing shaky. Then he sank down to sit on the stairs.
Half an hour later, the children were chasing each other around the house and most of the adults were chasing after them or helping clean up after dinner. Bruce was sitting in his easy chair in the living room, staring at a book without reading it. Jackson was sitting on a straight-backed chair on the other side of the room that was meant more for decoration than functionality. Between them lounged Selina, who was flipping through channels on TV, and Tim, who was quietly working on his tablet.
At long last, Jackson rose to his feet. It took him several minutes to cross the living room. Bruce shut the book and waited silently, remaining seated. Selina and Tim went tense as they watched.
Jackson stood in front of Bruce for a very long moment. Then he raised his hand.
Tim was instantly there, catching his wrist, but Jackson stared, reading in Bruce's body language that the man would not have dodged the strike. "...Batman."
Tim released his hand.
"Jackson," Bruce said in a low voice.
"You locked us in cages. Chained us. Starved us and beat us, fed us Meat. Drugged us and made us Laugh."
"That was the other one. My nightmare."
After a long time, Jackson whispered, "Your nightmare."
"My worst nightmare, come to life. It's you. What he did to you. My sons."
Jackson carefully eyed Tim, who nodded.
Jackson's fists and teeth clenched; his nostrils flared. "I'm - real. Not a fucking DREAM!"
"You are real," Bruce murmured. "The nightmares were brought to life. You came into this world. Your screams and your blood...they're real. It's my fault."
After a long silence, Jackson's face crumpled. The strength seemed to leave his body and he slipped to his knees. His hands hit the floor as he wept, then he gave up and lay at Bruce's feet, sobbing into the carpet. Bruce himself had covered his face, tears starting to drip between his hands, shoulders shuddering. Uncertainly, carefully, Selina leaned on the arm of his chair and ran her fingertips across his back; Tim knelt beside his young counterpart and rested a hand on his hair.
Jackson finally sat up and rubbed his sleeve over his face, looking drained. Bruce had gone quiet, elbows braced on his knees and head hanging.
"He's dead?" Jackson asked.
"Yes," Bruce mumbled without looking up. "A long time ago, when you came to this world."
"I wanted to fucking kill him."
There was nothing to say to that.
"Can I kill you?"
"No," Tim said, calmly.
Jackson turned his face to meet Tim's eyes for the first time that night. "Timothy. Jackson. Drake," he spat.
"The not-nightmare one," Tim agreed.
"Fuck you."
"I'm ace, so no thanks."
"It's your fault."
"I stopped letting people blame me for existing a long time ago."
Jackson clenched his hands so hard his fingernails left red marks on his palms. "What do I...do?!"
"You could stay for Christmas," Selina suggested. "You even have presents. Saves me having to bring them over if you open them up here."
Jackson stared at her.
"Jackson," Tim said softly, "you're free. You've been free for five years. Free of Laughs for twelve. You can do whatever you want."
"...I want to go home," Jackson choked out. "[chirp-chirp], [caw]..."
Selina reached down to ruffle his hair. "I'll take him."
"Will you be back?" Bruce asked in a low voice.
Selina looked at her son. "You want me to stay at the lab tonight, kitten, or can I come back here once I drop you off?"
"Who do you love more?" Jackson challenged. "Me, or him?"
"Stay with him," Bruce said at once, his voice flat.
Selina huffed. "I'm not playing that game. If you two are going to fight about it, then I'll go out clubbing with Holly, how's that?"
Jackson sulked, and Bruce frowned.
"Looks like no one will have to drive him," Tim said, checking his phone. He tapped the button to open the front gates.
Bruce stood at the top of the front steps, watching Selina drive Jackson in the golf cart to meet the car waiting just beyond the property line. From that distance, he saw the figures of his two other lost sons throw themselves upon their little brother and drag him into the back seat. Selina leaned beside the window for a while, talking to her co-parents. Then she finally looked back and waved at Bruce before getting into the car.
Bruce exhaled deeply, his heart full of a bittersweet ache as he watched Catwoman, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn drive away with his children.
o.o.o
Author's notes: Mar'i being Damian's Robin was an idea I came up with for this specific "Never Adopted" story, but I like it so much that now it's part of my general headcanon. :)
I'm so glad I finished a story! 8'''D This was the second-worst alternate ending to TBWS. I think that Jackson would occasionally visit the manor and gradually feel more comfortable (John & Peter would probably refuse to ever set foot there), but I didn't know how to mention that, since the Sirens driving away with the birds seemed like a good place to end it.
I'm still having troubles in real life that are preventing me from working on the main story, but I've got a lot of other TBWS stuff that I can try in the meantime.