The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Super rough draft: Kidnapping rescues and John-centric aftermath
TRIGGER WARNINGS apply to the first scene.
o.o.o
This was the reason [throwaway minion] had volunteered to take one of the hostages all by himself. This deserted stretch of road where he could do what he needed to do in peace, where no one would hear if the kid screamed.
He drove across a field until he reached the woods, edging the car in as far as he could until he was pretty sure it wasn't visible from the road. He got out and went around to the trunk.
The kid was conscious, but still groggy from the drugs, his efforts to struggle weak and unfocused. Easy as pie to drag him out and lay him down at the base of a tree, to slip a cord under the bonds that were already there and tie it around the trunk, keeping the kid's arms up and out of the way. He ripped off the gag, laughing at the child's scream of pain. "Yell all you want, ain't no one gonna hear you. You're gonna have a better use for your mouth in a minute."
He'd cut the ankle bindings later, when he'd taken the edge off; for now, he was desperate to just start. The sensation of a small, fresh, helpless body beneath his was driving him crazy, he didn't even bother to straighten up as he reached to unfasten his pants.
o.o.o
*red robin hiking through the woods; figures out that the persistent bird call is actually peter's*
The woods were loud, mostly with birdsong. [A pair of birds calling to reassure each other, a flock of birds merrily celebrating the feast they'd found in the leaves, a territorial warning cry, and a grackle that sounded like it was having a really bad day. "Bad sign that he'd have left the road, no good reason to leave the road; Peter, where are you...?"
Red Robin suddenly came up short, honing in on the most irritating and persistent of the bird calls. Come to think of it, he knew three human-shaped birds who were having a really, really bad day. "Peter!" He broke into a run.]
Following the sound of the distressed cries, he soon saw a dark shape lying at the base of a tree. He put on a burst of speed until he reached the site, then tried not to throw up.
Peter was lying on the ground, soaked with blood and filth, his hands bound together and tied above his head. He stared up at his brother in fear and anguish, his cries finally ceasing. He was pinned beneath the body of a man who was naked from the waist down, pants pooled around the ankles. A scan with the mask's analytical program suggested that the man had been dead for about half an hour.
Red Robin forced back his nausea and crouched to heave the corpse away. Ordinarily, he would have checked for a pulse and attempted resuscitation, but he was not feeling favorably inclined toward a person who had kidnapped and possibly raped his baby brother. "Peter..."
The boy was crying, attempting to speak but unable to form intelligible words. He screamed when he saw the blade in Red Robin's hand.
"I'm not going to hurt you, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise! This is for the zip-ties. Peter, it's me, it's Tim." He took off his mask. "I'm your brother. I'd never hurt you."
"crow! Nn...nnnnoo! crow!"
"Peter, please." He tried moving back and setting the knife down and looking around casually. Peter quieted, staring at him. Tim stole sideways glances at him and used the opportunity to put his mask back on and do a basic medical scan. There were no broken bones or other major injuries, and most, if not all, of the blood seemed to be the kidnapper's.
"You're so brave, Peter," Tim said softly. Judging by the shape of the stains, the dried blood that the boy was covered with had originated at his mouth and streamed down his body; the man's probable cause of death was bleeding out from the injury in his neck. Peter had literally bitten a chunk out of his jugular. "I don't know if I could have saved myself the way you did if I was in your position."
"crow..."
Tim risked edging closer. "Peter," he said softly, "if you don't let me help you, how are you going to get free?"
Peter whimpered and slowly, painfully managed to say, "Sss, sssccare, ssscare-duh."
"I know you are. But the man who hurt you is dead now, and I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help. Will you let me help you? If you let me free your hands, then I'll let you free your own feet."
"Dd...Dddohtt...hhhh, hhhurrt, mmme."
"I won't. Look, I'm going to pick up the knife now." He did so slowly. "I'm bringing it up so I can reach the zip-ties. I'm going to set the blade against the ties, so you need to stay very still so I won't cut you, okay?" He kept moving slowly, explaining every movement as he went, until Peter's hands were finally free. The boy started to cry again.
"Hurts," he finally signed shakily.
"It's because your blood circulation was restricted for so long, and now that the pressure's finally eased, your veins are trying to adjust to having enough blood flowing through them again. It will hurt for a little while, but it will pass. Tell me when it stops hurting, then I'll give you the knife so you can free your feet."
xXx
*contacts family
Jason dispatched the kidnappers quickly, then turned to the child in the corner and swore.
John was gagged and tied to a chair in classic kidnap victim fashion. Alarmingly, his wide eyes were staring straight ahead, as if he wasn't aware that someone had come to rescue him.
Jason hurried to him and cut his bonds, easing him off the chair and into his arms. "Oh, geez... Johnnybird, this is going to hurt. I'm so sorry, kiddo. I'll make it quick."
He was even more alarmed when he ripped off the duct tape and John didn't even blink. "Crap." He rubbed the boy's mouth to ease the pain he was surely feeling but apparently not registering, and did a quick med scan. No broken bones or serious injuries. There were a few tears in his clothing, but not enough to indicate violence other than some rough handling. There was a bruise on his face, but he couldn't do anything about that; the only visible blood was dry; there were some small cuts and the harshly chafed wrists. Jason disinfected and bandaged those quickly, yet still, John hadn't moved. It was like he was asleep with his eyes open.
"Johnny. Come on, baby bird, look at me. I'm here - I made it in time, you're alive, you're safe. ...Damn it, Dick, look at me."
Still nothing. Jason gave up and scooped the boy into his arms, striding out toward his motorcycle. ...Which he couldn't transport a basically unconscious child on, so he had to wait for the Batmobile to come screeching up.
*John gets added to the nest Peter made in the cave at Alfred's feet
xXx
*it's night by now; joker's dragged jack up to the top of a skyscraper and is gloating as news helicopters circle
Jack brought up his hands to sign, "Fly." That was all the warning he gave before he lunged forward and leaped out of the shattered window.
Screams erupted from the crowd below, but Nightwing dove off his own perch at just the right moment to catch the child in midair. Still falling, he shot a grapple line, but his resulting swing was too wide - without his other arm free to shoot a second line, he was going to crash, probably fatally, into the side of the building he was heading toward.
Red Hood came in, drawing his line across Nightwing's to slow it, and let go of his first grapple gun to avoid tangling with Nightwing. He fired the second one he had ready to take him safely to a nearby rooftop.
Nightwing had gone into a wobbling spin, barely controlled but at least in a shallower swing. He was still far from any safe landing sites and hindered by the child he was clutching.
This time it was Red Robin, catching Nightwing as he passed so that their swings were briefly aligned. He disengaged on the way back; Nightwing was freefalling for a second, having let go of his original grapple gun to take hold of the second one Red Robin had given him. Firing it brought him into a much more ideal swing, and by that time, he was close enough to the ground. He let out the line until he could drop safely to the pavement.
He promptly collapsed, giving in to throbbing ache of his right arm. Jack clung to him, bawling. The crowd was cheering wildly, barely held back by the police; a couple of officers made their way toward the child.
"Nightwing, that was amazing," one of the officers said reverently.
Nightwing gave a weak but friendly smile. "Thanks."
The other officer was saying soothing things and trying to pick up Jack, but his cries rose to panicked screams and he gripped Nightwing more tightly than ever. The vigilante tried to reassure him, but then Red Hood came looming out of nowhere, easily scooping up the terrified boy. Jack immediately wrapped his arms around the man's neck. "We know his dad," he told the officers. "We'll get him home." Then, when they started to protest, "You've got a perp to keep you occupied."
Robin, with all the dramatic timing of his father, came swooping in at that moment to drop the hog-tied, beaten-to-a-pulp Joker at the officers' feet. Without a word of his usual boasting, he went straight to the little boy and patted him. "Do not fret, child," he said imperiously. "That wretched piece of filth cannot hurt you now."
["Robin,"] Jack said tearfully, still clinging for dear life to Red Hood's neck. ["Good boy. I want Daddy."]
"He's coming, kiddo," Hood murmured. He could hear the Batmobile approaching already.
Red Robin joined the group, stooping to help Nightwing to his feet. He said something and Nightwing nodded, then the Batmobile was swerving to a halt beside the group with Batman already emerging from it.
The Dark Knight swept straight to the child, who was reaching for him; Jack changed hands in one smooth movement and buried his face in black Kevlar.
Batman, carrying Jack in one arm, turned to grip Nightwing's good elbow. "How bad is it?"
"I'll be fine in a minute."
"Get in the car."
"I just said-"
"Get in the car."
Nightwing sighed and trudged toward the Batmobile without further protest. While he was still within earshot, Batman gave his Robins a look that encompassed the whole group. "All of you did well. I'm impressed." He immediately strode to the car, his sons showing no sign of their glowing pride except for the smile on Robin's face.
Batman waited until Nightwing was in, then tried to set Jack on the seat beside him, but the child screamed in protest and tightened his full-body grip. It wasn't until Red Robin climbed into the car from the other side and held out his arms that Jack finally allowed himself to be peeled away from Batman. He whimpered, nestling between his big brothers, and Batman got into the front to drive. Red Hood and Robin retreated to the rooftops.
*the footage goes viral; gotham is super-proud of their vigilantes; also some "and with NO POWERS, too! suck it, metropolis!"
*not sure whether or not to have superman seeing the drama unfold on tv and rushing to help, only to get there an instant too late or maybe only just in time to lower nightwing the last few feet to the ground; the bats managed to handle it without him XD
xXx
Bruce had become attuned to the sounds of his young children. He knew without having to look that the wordless little wail was John's, and he hurried to comfort the boy.
"Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha...?!"
"You're safe, John. You're safe. I've got you, you're safe."
John squirmed in his arms, clutching him, biting him, restlessly refusing to settle.
"Johnny?" Dick called, coming over to join them on the couch. "You're home, Johnnybird. They're gone, they can't hurt you anymore."
John did not acknowledge him, practically climbing over Bruce in frustration.
"Ow, John. Do not bite." Uncomfortable with John practically burying himself between his father and the back of the couch, Bruce dragged him back into his lap and wrapped his arms around him, trying to make him feel secure. John pinned Bruce's arms in place.
"I can't believe how touchy he is after everything Laughs did to him," Jason remarked.
"I like it," Dick mumbled. "I'd rather cuddle with someone who might turn around and hit me than not be touched at all."
Damian, probably thinking he was being subtle, shifted so he was leaning against his oldest brother as he sketched.
Dick smiled broadly and gestured. "See? This, I love this. Took me the longest time to figure out why some of you think it's annoying."
John had still not settled down. Even while being held tightly, he was still pressing back hard against Bruce's chest, shoving with his feet to get more force, whimpering and fussing like a toddler.
"John," Bruce said in exasperation. "I've got you. What are you trying to do?"
Dick suddenly understood, but Cassandra was faster. She plucked John out of Bruce's arms, ignored the resulting scream, put the boy on the floor, and lay down on top of him.
John instantly quieted. After a moment, he wriggled to get comfortable, then went still at last.
Everyone stared for a while.
"Just...'lay on me,' " Duke remarked.
"Well, nothing bad can get to him through Cass," Tim mused.
Cassandra smiled and ducked her head to kiss John, looking like a mother hen hiding a frightened chick beneath her. John closed his eyes.
Hours passed, and he seemed calm, but screamed every time it looked like Cassandra might get up. He ate if a plate of food was placed near enough, but absolutely nothing could tempt him away from his safe haven.
Bruce finally had to be the bad guy in order to get him ready for bed. He dragged John away from Cassandra and carried the sobbing boy to his room.
Even with Dick helping, they couldn't get John into the bathtub. He let them take his clothes off without protest, but when they tried to shift him into the tub, he screamed and dug in his fingers (and teeth) and refused to let go of them.
They couldn't bathe him while he clung to them so tightly, but he did better with the shower stall. As long as Dick stayed between him and the stall door, John didn't cling or scream, but he also stared anxiously into space and didn't lift a finger to bathe himself. Dick had to wash his hair and scrub a loofah over his body. As soon as they pulled him out of the shower stall, John clung and cried and did not calm down until Dick tucked him into bed and lay on him.
"How long is this going to last?" Bruce asked in dismay.
"No idea. Even I've never been this traumatized before."
Dick had to sleep in the boys' bed that night. They did all right until about midnight, when Jack suddenly sat up and wouldn't stop screaming his head off until Bruce came to lie down on the other side of the bed, sandwiching the birds between himself and Dick. Jack curled into his chest and fell back asleep, but Peter climbed over Dick, putting his oldest brother between himself and Bruce.
John had not improved by morning. He struggled and fussed unless he was being pressed, and he refused to eat at the table.
"Take him to the living room," Bruce finally said.
"I need a break," Dick pleaded. "I've been pressing him all night."
After some experimentation, they found that it wasn't simple pressure John was craving - he insisted on full contact with a living human body (Titus wasn't enough for him, either). It was Cassandra who again volunteered to get John settled on the thick carpet, by which point the boy looked too tired to eat, even when Bruce set a dry bowl of his favorite cereal beside him. "Leave it," Cass said. "Later."
By midmorning, the cereal was gone, and John was even playing little games with Peter and Jack when they came to share their toys with him. He still screamed when his protector tested boundaries.
"...We're going to need to work out a shift schedule," Bruce realized in dismay.
"When was the last time he peed?" Jason suddenly spoke up. "He might not want to get up even for that."
Getting John to use the toilet was almost a two-person job; it was certainly easier with a second set of hands to maneuver around the boy's clinging and resisting and crying. Even when he'd been cleaned up, he sobbed all the way to the living room until he was tucked back under a big brother, at which point he fell asleep in exhaustion. Jason, carefully distributing his weight, opened the book he'd come prepared with and settled in for a long wait.
For the rest of that day and the next, they all did their share. (Most of them, anyway. When Damian nobly offered to take a turn, John struggled beneath him, screamed when Damian held him forcefully, then kept screaming when the frustrated teenager let him go. "Dami," Dick realized, only partially successful in holding back his laughter, "I think you're too small." "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M TOO SMALL?!") Even Tim, when he came home from work, leaned back on his traumatized little brother as he typed on his tablet, squashing the satisfied child between his body and the couch.
Bruce had to be the bad guy again so that John could have the breaks and exercise he needed despite his insistence to the contrary. Bruce took the boy on periodic walks, holding his hand or putting an arm around his shoulders but refusing to carry or fully hug him on the way. John spent the entire time trying unsuccessfully cuddle or climb him, fussing and complaining and screeching and sobbing when Bruce continued on at the same slow but steady pace. Even when he was finally allowed to lie down and be pressed by one of his older siblings, he cried like his heart was broken for a long time before finally falling asleep.
"He's barely said a word since the kidnapping," Jason murmured on the second evening, "not even in sign." They were all sitting around the living room, pretty much just gazing at John. The boy, currently tucked under Duke, stared back apprehensively.
"It's not getting better," Tim said. "We can't let this become normal."
Bruce was mentally preparing himself to be mean to his young son yet again, but then Dick said, "I have an idea."
o.o.o
John hated the flight. Strapped into a safety harness, he cried and struggled as best he could while being so confined, and clung to Clark's hand so tightly that even the Man of Steel remarked at one point, "That's quite a grip you've got there, John."
"Almost there, Johnny," Dick said. "Almost there."
With Clark accompanying them, Bruce didn't technically need more help other than Dick, but Jason, Stephanie, and Damian had come along for the sheer fun of it. Barry was helping Cassandra with the younger birds back in Gotham, and Alfred was flying the plane.
When they were high enough, they did one last check of their equipment. John was wired up with scanners and sensors, his parachute could be remotely activated by any of the Bats, and his suit could be directly controlled by either Dick or Bruce. Superman was there as a safeguard and to ensure that the child had a gentle landing even if everything went perfectly.
The younger Bats dove first, whooping with excitement. Then Dick stepped up to the edge with John and asked through the comms, "You ready to fly, Johnnybird?"
John just stared at him through the goggles, his expression the exact same mix of desperation and pleading and despair as it had been in the past few days when he wasn't being pressed. Dick took him over the edge, Clark carefully keeping pace; Bruce went last, keeping a close eye on John.
There was an expected spike of adrenaline at first, then a minute later, John's endorphin levels were off the charts. Bruce relaxed a little at the indication that maybe this hadn't been a mistake, that Dick really did know what he was doing.
John gave them all a scare when he suddenly pulled in his limbs and dropped like a rock, but before Superman could grab him or Bruce could remotely activate his suit, he'd spread himself out again. He was now falling backward, and his eyes were closed.
"My God, Dick - you really are a bird," Clark marveled. Dick laughed and adjusted so that he was falling faceup as well.
Everything went off without a hitch. When they neared the ground, Clark took hold of John and slowed their descent. He landed as gently as a feather with the boy in his arms, and tried to set him on his feet.
It didn't work, because John seemed to have gone boneless. Dick hurried up, shedding his parachute, and took the child from Clark; he sank to the ground with John in his arms. "Johnny? You okay, buddy?" His family gathered around, watching in concern.
John moved his arms, but they were weak and shaky. Dick had to support them so that John could finally sign, "Again. Fly again."
His older siblings burst into laughter. "Only you, Dick!" Jason cackled. "Only you would see being thrown out of a plane as therapy!"
Bit from an upcoming chapter of [Shelter] that I really liked but had to shorten because it messed up the flow:
Back home, the occasional flying rides Peter and Jack were able to coax from their Bat siblings were not enough for Richard John Grayson, Ctr.; oh no. No, this boy insisted on being flung off a building before being caught by a Bat to finish out the ride.
OF COURSE it was Nightwing who'd started the game, and it gave Bruce heart attacks even with safety equipment, but there was no way to stop a Grayson once he'd discovered a new adrenaline-pumping activity, particularly one that involved flying. John (and Dick, for that matter) didn't even like the building game as much as whenever he was able to convince any of his actual flying friends to take him at least 10,000 feet into the air and then drop him. The Kryptonians knew by now not to drop John without Bruce's permission and paranoid safety measures, but Starfire was more impulsive about giving in to the child's puppy eyes.