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Bruce heard his phone ring, as he was in a virtual meeting with his shareholders.
“Sorry, I need to answer this, might be my girlfriend~” he chirped with a winning smile and disconnected from the meeting.
He hit answer on the call and lifted the phone to his ear.
“~You’ve reached Bruce Wayne, go ahead~”
“Mr. Wayne?” a child’s voice asked “I didn’t know who else to call-“ the boy was interrupted by a coughing fit that trailed off into retching.
“Who is this?” Bruce asked suddenly serious, all pretense of “Brucie” gone.
“Timmy, your neighbour…-” there was a sound like he was trying to not throw up “-I’m really sick and I need help.”
Bruce was already getting out of his chair and pulling on his suit jacket, which already had his keys, wallet, and emergency tools in the hidden pockets.
“Timmy, is there anyone else in the house?”
“My parents are in Havana and the housekeeper doesn’t come till Tuesday.”
Bruce pulled the phone away from his ear and covered the microphone so he could swear.
“Timmy, I’m on my way, just keep talking to me, ok?”
“Ok…” the boys voice was weak and hoarse from crying.
Bruce kept the boy talking as he hurried to the garage, practically throwing himself into the car.
His hands were shaking as he struggled to start the car, talking to Timmy about cameras, as he mentally beat himself up for not noticing that the Drake’s weren’t taking care of their son.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, how did I not notice? The kid literally next door has been abused and I haven’t noticed a god-dam thing!”
“Timmy,” he said calmly, not giving a hint of his inner turmoil “Is there a possibility that you could open the front gates for me?”
“No, sir… too dizzy…”
“Fuck” Bruce mentally swore, as he stopped the car outside the gate, not even stopping the engine, as he leapt out to disable the locking mechanism on the gate. “Timmy, I have to hang up so that I can get inside, I’ll be there in a minute.” Timmy just mumbled something that Bruce couldn’t understand, as Bruce pulled out his digital lock hacker.
Luckily, the Drake’s had been relying more on the intimidation factor of the gate, then the locking mechanism in the gate to keep their property safe.
As soon as the gate had opened enough to get the car through, Bruce drove as fast as he dared up the driveway and burned rubber when he stopped the car.
He left the engine idling as he ran at the door, ramming it open with his shoulder.
“Timmy! Timmy! Where are you?”
“H-here!” the boys voice replied weakly.
Timmy had managed to crawl from the bathroom to the top of the grand steps and had collapsed there, too weak to go any further.
Bruce ran up the steps and scooped the boy into his arms (only realizing a moment too late that he had darted up them on all fours).
“Timmy, do you have any medications, or anything essential that I need to bring with us?”
“In my bag…” Timmy weakly gestured to the backpack he was wearing.
“Good.”
Bruce didn’t bother with the stairs and slid down the banister- it was faster.
He ran out the door at full speed, only pausing long enough to buckle Timmy into the car seat that usually belonged to Jason (who was still far too small for his age).
He peeled out of the Drake’s driveway with screech of burning rubber and drove back as quickly as he dared.
As he screamed to a stop outside the door of the Manor, Alfred was already standing there, holding the door open for him.
“And who is this, Young Master?” Alfred asked, as he shut the door behind Bruce.
“Timothy “Timmy” Drake. Next door neighbour, symptoms include high fever, nausea, dizziness, and weakness. There was no one there, Alfred. He is six and was left home alone, while his parents are in Havana. Havana, Alfred.” Bruce was starting to growl, mantling around Timmy defensively, like Batman around a child witness.
“I will call Doctor Leslie. Take the boy upstairs and get him comfortable while we wait for the doctor.”
Bruce nodded and darted up the stairs.
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The doorbell rang and Alfred opened it before the echoes had faded.
“Doctor.” He greeted Doctor Leslie, with a slight bow.
“Alfred.” She acknowledged with a slight bob of the head “Where is the patient?”
“Upstairs, in the family wing.”
“Alfred,” She sighed “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”
Alfred locked the door behind them and followed her up the stairs.
“Bruce? Bruce? Where are you?” Leslie called, opening doors, and sticking her head through, searching for Bruce.
He wasn’t in Dick’s room, or Jay’s room, or the spare bedroom.
“Could he have gone to your room, Alfred?”
“No, I have not received an alarm from the motion senser in that part of the house.”
Leslie gave Alfred a look, but took him at his word, as the two of them continued to search.
Having checked all the in-use rooms, prepared rooms and empty rooms, they decided to check Bruce’s room.
Alfred flicked on the light and Leslie sighed “They aren’t in here either. Are you certain your motion detectors are working?”
Alfred put a finger to his lips for silence and pointed at the bed- the covers were rumpled, and the blanket was missing.
Leslie made a “yeah, so what?” gesture.
Alfred pointed at the walk-in closet, the door of which was slightly ajar.
“Oh.” Leslie realized what Alfred was trying to tell her, as he silently walked to the door and gently pushed it open.
A loud growling came from the depths of the closet, sending shivers down her spine and causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. She couldn’t help but instinctually take a step back- it took all her self control to not give in to her instinct to flee in terror.
“Master Bruce, there is no need to growl at me.” Alfred said firmly. “I have brought Doctor Leslie to look over the child.”
Leslie cautiously approached the closet, while whatever was in it, continued to growl loudly.
Curled up, in the absolute back corner, tucked under a shelf, was Bruce. He was holding Timmy, who had his face buried in Bruce’s shoulder to block out the light. The loud, inhuman growling was coming from… Bruce? Now that Leslie looked closer, his joints were bent at strange angles and he had wrapped the blanket from his bed around him and Timmy like a cloak.
“Bruce… isn’t human.” Leslie realized and Bruce must have seen the terror manifest on her face, as his lips pulled back, baring his teeth… which looked too long in strange light.
She shook her head and put her fear aside, trying to put herself in the mindset of dealing with a patient having a bad trip, who might lash out if frightened “Hey Bruce, you remember me, right?” using her most soothing voice and showing her empty hands “it’s Doctor Leslie, Auntie Leslie… Alfie called me, cause you’ve got a really sick kid on your hands. I can help make him better, but I need to look him over, ok?”
The growling slowed, tapering off.
“I’m going to have to turn on the overhead light, so that I can get a better look, ok?”
Bruce shook his head “Light… hurt Timmy.” His voice sounded horse, croaky and painful, nothing like his normal smooth as butter, dulcet tones.
“I promise I won’t keep it on for long, ok? Just long enough to get a good look at Timmy.”
Bruce took concerningly long to process, considering that he was sharp as a whip underneath the façade of foolishness.
He nodded, slowly, and Alfred turned on the closets overhead light, as Leslie crouched and carefully moved into the closet, keeping herself small and non-threatening.
“Hey Timmy…” she carefully greeted the boy, whose eye’s were glazed from fever as he blinked slowly at her.
What followed was the strangest examination she had ever done.
Knelt in a closet, with Bruce, who she had know since he was literally only a few hours old and that she had apparently never noticed was some kind of cryptid.
A seriously sick child, that looked more malnourished than some of the street kids she had seen, who was apparently, the son of some rich couple who had just left him abandoned at home while they went to Havana.
Every time she did something that made Timmy make a pained or surprised noise, Bruce would start growling again and she would have to back off until he calmed down.
Leslie noticed half-way through her examination that Bruce had apparently, been holding a knife the whole time, ready to use it if he deemed her a threat.
Somehow, she managed to make it though the whole examination without being bitten or stabbed, which she considered a victory.
“Hey Bruce.” His gaze fixed on her, pupils widening as he pulled Timmy close “It looks like Timmy just has a bad cold, ok?”
Bruce processed for a few seconds, then nodded slowly.
“I’m going to give some prescriptions to Alfred, it’ll help Timmy keep food down, breath better and not get any sicker.”
Bruce seemed to calm slightly, reassured that Timmy wouldn’t have to go to the ER and wouldn’t get any sicker.
“What would really help, is if Timmy could get clean and lie down. In a real bed, not a nest in a closet.”
…And there was the growling again.
“Master Bruce, if I were to keep guard at the door, would you feel comfortable enough to move to the bed?”
“Alfred really is a god-send” Leslie thought as Bruce nodded.
Alfred went to the door of the room and held it open, his way of saying that it was time for her to leave.
She took his advice and went out into the hallway.
The moment he followed her and closed the door behind them, she slid down the wall to the ground and buried her face in her hands.
“What the hell happened to Bruce? He’s some kind of-some kind of- creature!”
“Let us move a bit further away before we start discussing this.” Alfred said calmly but in a tone that brokered no argument.
Alfred led her down the hall to an unused sitting room. It looked like someone had started renovating it and gave up halfway through. The carpet had been replaced with wood floor and the walls had been stripped of wallpaper, then who ever was working on it had stopped, leaving the furniture covered in plastic and the lights disabled. The only light in the room came through the yellowed, dusty plastic on the windows, tinting the room an odd shade of amber.
Alfred was turned away from her, hands clasped loosely behind himself.
“You know the family secret now. Bruce is… not fully human. Not anymore.”
He turned just enough to fix her with a penetrating gaze, that froze her to the spot.
“Understand, this cannot leave these walls. If others knew… it would put the children in danger.”
The was a painting on the wall, obscured by a yellowed plastic dust cover. It was of a young Bruce and his parents-but the way the dust cover had settled, the faces of the portraits were obscured leaving only their yellowed teeth visible, their smiles mocking the modern occupants of the room.
“Alfred… how long has Bruce been like this?”
When Alfred sighed, it sounded like he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders alone for decades. He slumped slightly, like he was simply too exhausted to hide his weariness anymore.
“The seeds were planted the night his parents died.”
“What?”
Motes of dust swirled in the air, turned into flecks of gold by the sunlight.
“It happened over the course of many years… I watched as my sweet little boy, slowly became a beast. Some nights… it is worse than you saw.”
“Worse?” Leslie mumbled, almost to herself “is Bruce one of the rouges?”
“No. I raised him better than that, Leslie.” Alfred said with a mild hint of annoyance in his voice, that was his equivalent of rounding on someone, voice raised.
Somewhere in the house was a grandfather clock, its ticking echoing down the halls to them.
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock… Bong! Bong!
The echoes of the sound of its chimes lingered in the still, musty air.
“Is Bruce… Batman?” Leslie’s face was a mask of horror, her hands going to her face and stomach, like she might be sick, and Alfred finally turned to face her. He looked as calm as ever, the only thing betraying his fear for his master, was the fact he had turned with enough force to make his shoes click against the floor.
“Oh god, he is, isn’t he? -” her body jerked like she was trying not to heave “-that’s were he gets all those injuries…”
Alfred put a hand on her shoulder and guided her down onto the plastic covered couch.
Leslie buried her face in her hands, exhausted and overwhelmed as she tried to process what the hell was happening.
“Now, you understand why this information cannot become public.”
“Who would I even tell?” she mumbled, almost hysterically into her hands “no one would ever believe me.”
“Good. I have worked very hard to ensure that.”
“Alfred,” she raised her head, cautiously from her hands “are you… being forced to look after Bruce? “
“No, Doctor Leslie. I swore an oath when the young master was a babe in arms, to serve and protect him as long as I am able.”
Leslie laughed, slightly hysterically “You sound like a character in a bad period drama…. Wait, you aren’t actually from the Victorian era or something, are you?”
“Leslie, my age is a matter for myself and my doctor.”
This time Leslie’s laughter was hard enough to make her lean forward and put her head between her knees as her body shook.
“Oh Alfred… you really are something else.” She wheezed as she got herself together and sat up.
“Do you swear that you will never tell another soul about Bruce’s… peculiarly?”
Leslie nodded, but seeing Alfred’s face “I swear on Gotham, I will never tell another living soul that Bruce is Batman.” She shuddered, felling for a moment as if the gaze of something… unknowable had passed over her.
Alfred extended a hand to help her stand up and she took it.
“I am glad were able to come to an agreement, Doctor Leslie. I am noy certain I would have been able to clean up the blood before the master became suspicious of my whereabouts.”
She yanked her hand away, the look of horror returning. “Oh god… is that why you brought to this room? To kill me if I didn’t swear to protect Bruce’s secret?”
“Luckily, it was not necessary.”
“How many have you…?” Leslie breathed, looking at the man who she had called friend, in a completely different light.
“No-one. But I am willing to do whatever is necessary to protect those in my care.”
He moved to a parade rest, hands lightly clasped in front of him “Now, there is the mater of Young Master Timothy’s prescriptions.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dick and Jay came through the door in a loud rustling of bags and clattering of shoes, the disgruntled back-up jack-of-all-trades fellow trying to reign them in and failing.
“Richard! Jason! Leave your shoes in the rack, not scattered around!” he yelled after them as they disappeared into the house, after swapping their runners for house-shoes.
Alfred appeared behind him silently. “Thank you, Franklin. I will take it from here.”
“J-eus!” Franklin (who preferred to be called Frank) yelled in surprise. Even after ten years of working under Alfred, he still couldn’t predict when his boss was going to appear behind him.
“No, my name is Alfred.” Alfred deadpanned, making it unclear if it was a joke or not. He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Frank “Please, run that down to the chemist and bring it back as quickly as you can. I will look after the young masters.”
It didn’t take long for Alfred to find them, as they had headed for the family kitchen, where Alfred had already set out an afterschool snack for the boys.
“Hey Alfred!” Dick said, through a mouthful of orange slice “What’s up?”
“The roof, Master Richard. Please finish chewing your food and swallowing before you attempt to speak.”
Dick rolled his eyes but helped himself to another piece of sliced orange.
Jason put down the cup of juice which he had been noisily sucking though a straw.
“It’s just that you never send Frank to pick us up, unless something big is happening.”
Alfred picked up the empty cup, retrieved the jug of juice from the fridge and poured Jason another cup’s worth.
“Thanks Alfred” Jason smiled, pulling the cup close, as he buttered a muffin.
“Young Master Timothy Drake, from next door has taken seriously ill. Lacking anyone else to turn to, he called Master Bruce for help. Young Master Timothy may be staying with us for quite some time.” Alfred stated, as he caught Dick and held him still for a moment to wipe fruit juice off his chin with a napkin, despite Dick’s protests that he was able to do it himself.
“New hatchling?” Dick chirped curiously, tilting his head in a birdlike manner.
“Please attempt to use human languages in the house, Master Richard.” Alfred gently admonished.
Jason looked confused, as he thoughtfully munched on his muffin.
“Alfred, you called Timothy “Young Master”. You’ve always called him “Mister Timothy” before. Why the change?” Jason looked serious beyond his years, as his bright eyes fixed Alfred with the penetrating gaze common among those in the household.
“Did I now?” Alfred asked, seemingly rhetorically “I must have misspoken. Please, forgive my slip.” He turned his back to them and started slicing another orange, likely to bring to Bruce and Timothy, knowing that the most effective way to get Bruce to eat was small snacks throughout the day, epically when those around him were eating.
Jason and Dick shared a look. They could absolutely tell that it had not been a mistake- Alfred had already mentally added Timmy to the Wayne household.
“Alfred,” Jason asked “May we go see Timothy?”
“If you wear your respirators, keep your distance and wash your hands afterwards, yes, you may come with me when I bring this snack up to Master Timothy and Master Bruce.”
“Ok!” Dick said, with the enthusiasm only children can muster, as he jumped off his chair and grabbed Jason’s hand, pulling him along as he ran to get his respirator.
“No running in the house!” Alfred called over his shoulder at them. One he was certain they were out of earshot, he smiled and chuckled to himself “Oh, to have the energy of youth.”
By the time Alfred had finished prepping the snack, Jason and Dick had retrieved their respirators from their school bags and Franklin had dropped by just long enough to drop off Timothy’s meds before being dismissed until the next time he was needed by Alfred.
Alfred carried a tray up, being shadowed by two silent children, who were making a game of walking only in Alfred’s footsteps.
“Remember, your father is Broody at the moment, so he is feeling very defensive. No sudden moves or loud noises.”
“Yes Alfred.” Dick and Jason chorused in perfect unison.
Alfred gently knocked on the door to announce his presence “Master Bruce, I have snacks, water, juice and Timothy’s medicine. May I come in?”
Some muffled bat noises came through the door, that roughly translated to “reluctant assent”.
Alfred opened the door slowly.
The room was lit by the light from the door and what could sneak in through a gap in the blackout curtains.
It looked like Bruce had gathered all the spare pillows and blankets in the family wing and piled them on the bed into a rounded nest.
Alfred internally winced at the amount of laundry he would have to do when Timothy was well enough that Bruce felt comfortable acting human again.
There was a rustling from within the nest and two dark mops of hair appeared.
Bruce appeared to be trying to push Timothy back down into the nest while watching Alfred like a hawk. Eventually Bruce gave up on keeping Timothy’s head below the edge of the nest and let him see what was going on.
Timothy’s eyes were still glazed with fever, but he looked a little more with it then he had earlier.
“Hello,” Alfred said as he carried the tray to the bed side table “You have some visitors as well.”
Dick and Jason cautiously stuck their heads around the door and padded in.
“Hi Dad,” Dick chirped before switching to English “How’s Timmy feeling?”
“Sick,” he answered in the bat-language and shook his head, before grabbing Timmy who was trying to climb out of the nest “bring things-to-do? Big help.”
“Hi Timmy,” Jason waved, keeping more of a distance than Dick, not wanting to get sick and have to miss school “How are you doing?”
“I’m well enough to be bored, but not well enough to do anything.” Timmy croaked “My tablet’s in my backpack-“ he nodded toward the backpack that was sitting next to the closet “-Could you get it for me?”
As Jason riffled, carefully, through Timmy’s backpack Alfred was explaining Timmy’s prescriptions to Dick, Timmy and Bruce.
“This orange inhaler is to be taken every four hours, using the chamber. This green inhaler is to be used with the chamber, before bed, so that Timothy will not have to be woken every four hours throughout the night. Timothy will also need to rise his mouth out thoroughly and gargle after taking the inhalers, to prevent secondary infections. The smaller pills are antibiotics to prevent secondary infections, to be taken three times a day, with food. There are also anti-nausea pills to be taken every four hours as needed.”
Bruce was watching Alfred carefully and nodding along with his explanations. He fiddled with his watch a moment, to set an alarm, then set about helping Timmy take his meds.
Jason managed to find Timmy’s tablet and gave it to Alfred, who held it hostage until Timmy had taken his meds and eaten a few bites of food.
Satisfied that Timmy and Bruce were at least going to eat a small snack, Alfred started rounding up Dick and Jason.
“Now, we have checked on Masters Bruce and Timothy, they will be fine on their own for awhile. Let us not doddle, I would prefer to look after one sick child rather than four.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Several days later, once the fever had broken and Timmy was well enough to get out bed, Bruce was feeling more human. He had started disassembling the nest that he had made to protect the injured hatchling. Bruce didn’t regret all the time he had spent training his “Batman” responses to stimuli, but the fact that those responses were now as natural as breathing, occasionally led to problems.
Such as getting “broody” over a neighbour’s sick child and according to Alfred, outing his identity to Doctor Leslie.
He was brought back to the present, by Timmy poking him, trying to get his attention.
“Your Batman.” Timmy looked up at Bruce, from his perch on the edge of the bed, his face deadly serious. “I had my susp- suspicions before I got sick, but now I’m certain.”
Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, pausing in his self-appointed task of folding the blankets that had made up the nest, so they could go through the laundry chute.
“Yes. I am Batman.”
Timmy looked shocked that Bruce wasn’t trying to hide it from him anymore. Then his shock was hidden away by something that looked far too cold on a child’s face.
“Does that mean … the infection killed me?” Timmy asked seriously, something that looked almost like hope glinting in his eyes.
“No, no Timmy-” Bruce looked like his heart was breaking as his gathered Timmy gently into his arms, like he was made of glass. “-your alive, I can feel your heartbeat, hear your breathing. You are still alive.”
“I guess that means that I have to go home then.” Timmy was trying to stop himself from leaning into the hug he was so desperate for, knowing that if he indulged now, it would hurt more later. “I’m not sick anymore, so you don’t have to look after me anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Timmy, but I can’t let you go h- back to a place where there is no one to look after you.” Bruce still sounded heartbroken. Timmy didn’t understand, why was this a problem? He was seven, he had started looking after himself at five. He was old enough to be left on his own.
And the caves under Gotham called to him, the restlessness pulling at him, unintelligible whispers humming in his ears. He wanted to go back down.
“But I’m seven, I’m old enough to look after myself,” Timmy looked up a Bruce, uncomprehending “I’ve been doing it since I was five.”
Bruce made a chocked off sound and pulled him closer.
“Timmy… What your parents did… leaving you alone at five, isn’t right. Leaving a kid behind while they went on vacation isn’t right, no matter how old the kid is.”
“Just… I thought Batman only took in kids that had… died…” Timmy said unable to stop himself from leaning into the warmth that Bruce gave off.
“We tell that lie to others to keep ourselves safe. No one will be looking for living secret identities if they think we are dead.” Bruce stroked over Timmy’s hair soothingly, feeling Timmy almost go boneless in his arms from relaxation.
“…Can I stay?” Timmy asked quietly, sounding his age for the first time.
“You can stay as long as you want Timmy, even forever.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The room was designed with two entrances, one on either side of a large table that was supposed to block the two parties from reaching each other.
The Drakes walked in confidently, as if nothing was wrong with what they had did.
Bruce was a simmering pot of barely-lidded rage as Clark followed at his heels.
The two parties pulled out their chairs and sat down in silence.
The Drakes broke first.
“Why have you brought your body double to this meeting. It is supposed to be private.”
“This is my brother, Clark.” The “Bruce” on the left nodded to the “Bruce” on his right, who waved at the Drakes, face impassive.
Clark was wearing one of Bruce’s suits, had his hair gelled back and wasn’t wearing his glasses. In other words, the two of them looked nearly identical.
“What.” Janet Drake made a face “Why would you bring your brother?”
“Clark” smiled and in his most polite “I wish to beat you black and blue, but I am trying very hard to be civil” voice said, “I’m here so that Bruce doesn’t leap over this table and strangle you with his bare hands.”
“And I’m here so that Clark won’t leap over the table and rip out your throats with his teeth.” “Bruce” said, mirroring the exact same smile and tone of voice.
“That-that’s impossible…” Jackson Drake looked horrified, trying to lean back, farther away from “Clark”.
“Clark” shrugged “Can’t be all that different from doing it to a cow.” His smile was still firmly in place. It felt more like a threat, then an attempt to be civil.
“Bruce” lifted a briefcase onto the table and removed several pieces of paperwork, setting them on the table “Just sign this, please. The we will never have to see each other again.”
The Drakes didn’t bother to read though all the paperwork, signing their sons life away without a second glace.
“Bruce” took the paperwork back and read through it, to ensure that everything had been signed properly.
“Are we done?” Janet Drake asked impetuously, even though her voice wavered slightly under the weight of “Clark’s” unblinking stare
“Yes, we are.” “Bruce” answered, putting the paperwork into the briefcase and closing it with a violently loud snap. “I would say “ see you again soon” but if I ever see you again, in this life or the next, it would be too soon.”
The Drakes left in a hurry, even though they tried to make it look like they weren’t hurrying.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Clark and Bruce stood up to hug each other. They rested their foreheads together, gathering strength from each others presence.
“I can’t believe they would leave their son alone like that!” Clark snaped, unable to keep the angry hiss out of his voice.
“I know. But Timmy will be all right now.” Bruce said, sounding just as angry.
They took a moment to just breathe, then Bruce took Clark’s glasses out of his pocket and put them onto Clark’s face.
“Ready to face the paparazzi?” Bruce asked.
Clark made a squeaky, huffy noise, a kryptonian sound that meant generalized discontent, and pulled a face. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Jordan paused before the door to the roof, taking a moment to gather himself.
The signal had been activated from the top, meaning that the Bat and probably at least one child would be there.
He opened the door.
There was a child he hadn’t seen before on the roof.
They were sitting cross legged on the ground, their father seeming nowhere nearby.
They were turned away from him, meaning that all he could see was a mop of dark hair and a black feathered cloak that rustled as they swayed side to side.
They were singing, in English, not the Bat’s tongue.
“~Bring me a gun and I’ll shoot that bird dead~
~That’s what your Mammy and Poppy once said,~
~Sang the Crow on the Cradle.~
~Crow on the cradle, oh what should I do?~
~ that is something I leave up to you~
~that is something I leave up to you~”
~sang the Crow on the Cradle…~
The boy’s song trailed off, the last note hanging in the cool night air and seeming to echo, despite having nothing to echo off of.
“James “Jim” Gordan.” The child stated impassively.
“Head of the GCPD for the last 8 years. Widely considered the “Last Good Cop” in Gotham. You are famous for not excepting bribes or listening to threats.”
The child bent over backward, spine flexing impossibly, allowing Gordon to see the child’s wide smile and feathered masquerade mask.
“You are also the only one who isn’t scared of us.”
Jim hadn’t realized that he had taken a few steps toward the child, until he heard Batman jump down from the roof entrance behind him. He spun around, putting his hands up in surrender at the expression on Batman’s face. Batman seemed practically defensive of this child.
The child walked to his father, the dark feathers blending into the black of Batman’s cloak as he tucked himself into it for warmth.
“What’s your name?” Jim asked carefully.
The child smiled, it’s teeth seemingly too sharp to be human “I already told you, with my song.”
Jim took a moment to think “Is it… Crow?”.
“Good. You aren’t as dumb as my brothers say you are.”
Jim didn’t know if he should be offended or not.
“Crow… How did you die?” Jim asked and was startled when Batman growled at him, letting his cloak drop to completely hide the child from view.
“It’s very rude to ask that, you know-” The now-disembodied voice of Crow said “-but I will tell you, because Father and my brothers are fond of you. I died of neglect, pure and simple. Do not cry for me, death has been far kinder than life ever was. I will miss being able to go to the camera store, but that’s no great price to pay”
Jim shut his eyes tightly, turning his head away so that Crow couldn’t see the grief on his face.
Crow was suddenly wracked by painful sounding coughs, that were enough to make Batman’s cloak ripple. They lasted far too long, making Jim wince.
“Crow… still weak-” Batman rasped, bending over, obviously to pick up the child “-back to nest now.”
Unhappy bird noises came from below the cloak, mixed with childish sniffling, like Crow was trying not to cry. “I’m sorry… I just wanted to meet your friend…” Crow’s voice was now a painful breathy rasp, sounding almost like his father’s.
“It was nice to meet you, Crow.” Jim said, reaching into the pocket of his coat and retrieving a chocolate bar he had started keeping in there, just in case.
A tiny, black gloved hand emerged from a gap in Batman’s form, grabbing the chocolate and retreating.
Batman made a noise that Jim had never heard before.
“Thank you.” Jim could practically hear the eye-roll in Crow’s voice.
Batman vanished back into the shadows, leaving Jim alone on the roof.