Chapter Text
Refuge, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Part 7 (rough draft)
This should not hurt as much as it does. I should have expected this. I am a monster, a living nightmare meant to enact justice on the evil of humanity. Of course little children would fear me, that is why I kept myself hidden.
Now I have been revealed, and of course they fear me. It was inevitable, so it is foolish of me to feel like this.
At least Timothy doesn't seem to be very frightened of me, even after everything he witnessed. His brothers do not let each other out of their sight, but Timothy has from time to time caught glimpses of me in the shadows and simply watched, returning my wary gaze with his own solemn one.
Richard and Jason do not catch sight of me nearly as often, but whenever they do, Jason panics and Richard makes perfectly earnest attempts to slay me. They hate the sight of me.
They are formidable opponents. The first day, they took turns sleeping and then spent the night trying to escape their enclosure. I knew my duty lay elsewhere, but I still felt compelled to remain home and keep them contained (a task which required and still requires my constant vigilance). They only stopped when it occurred to them that keeping me in the manor at night frees criminals to roam at will in the city.
Now they sleep at night, still taking watch shifts, and devote their days to thwarting me. I have so far managed to outwit them, but I have no rest and no peace. I don't know how long I can endure.
Yet I must endure. The children will come to harm if I do not, and I cannot bear the thought of it.
I am perched atop a cathedral, my many senses seeking out a Talon to follow back to its lair, when I feel someone calling me. I tune my senses and realize that Timothy is writing to me.
"Bruce, are you there?" he asks.
I am not sure what he means by 'there.' "You wish to speak to me?" I ask.
"Are you mad at us?"
"I am not."
"What can we do to make you let us go?"
I feel stung that he seems to be accusing me of holding them captive, but...I suppose that is what it amounts to, even if it is not my intention. I am trying to protect them, but unfortunately, that requires me to keep them contained against their will. "I will give you whatever is in my power to give. Please be content and stop fighting me."
"Dick and Jason aren't going to stop. I don't want to fight you, but I don't want to be trapped here, either."
"I am keeping you safe from the Court of Owls and their Talons."
"Thank you. But can you keep us safe in a less scary way?"
My purpose is to incite fear. "I cannot."
"Please, Bruce. Please, please let us go. What if I promise to come back later? I can visit you sometimes."
I don't know how else to reiterate that it is not safe for the children to leave my shelter. "Please stop arguing with me, Timothy. Be content that you are safe."
He doesn't respond, and after a moment, I sense that he has turned his attention away from me. I know I have disappointed him, but...I hope that I have not angered or upset him. His brothers' fear and fury is already painful enough.
I am able to stop contemplating this unpleasant business when I spot a flicker of movement: a Talon. I leap from my perch and stalk silently after it, waiting for it to lead me to its masters.
It is too close to dawn when I finally return; my eyes ache from the light, and I am already tired and injured from my grim work in the heart of the Court. I am, however, victorious, and I focus on that as I drag my body into my home.
Even as I make my way to my nest, I stretch out my senses to check on the children.
I am alarmed to find that Jason is crying. I pause. Richard is attempting to comfort him, with little success. Timothy is handing him small pieces of candy. Jason continues to weep even as he eats them one by one. "We're never gonna get out...we'll be trapped here forever...."
"Jay, I am gonna get us out of this," Richard says determinedly. "And If he ever comes for us again, I'll make sure he takes me instead of you. I am not letting him have you again, Jay; do you hear me? It won't happen again."
I hover guiltily. I had simply meant to calm Jason and stop him from hurting himself, but holding him in what I had thought (erroneously, I see now) was comforting darkness, he had only grown more terrified and desperate, not less. In my ignorance, I miscalculated badly, and the boy hates me more than ever. I had already resolved to never try to comfort him again, but he has no reason to trust me even if I were able to convey the message.
"I wanna go home," Jason sobs. Up until now he was tense, curled in on himself, his weeping choked as he fought it; now he collapses, sprawling limply into Richard's arms and wailing without restraint. "I want...to go...home...!"
He has no home. I can feel how alone he is, other than his two brothers. He has no significant ties to any other person, no legitimate claims to any specific location within the city. His home is gone, he yearns for something that does not exist. I wish he could accept a home from me, but he is not willing to accept anything he knows I offer.
Richard holds him, looking helpless and furious, his eyes glittering with angry tears. His jaw clenches as his mind races like a rat in a trap, searching desperately for a way out when there is none.
I look to Timothy. The youngest child is watching his brothers, but unlike them, he does not grieve or lash out. He is not afraid. He is not even angry. Instead, he is full of steely resolve that chills me. If any of these soft little younglings could escape the grasp of a being like me, it would be him. It makes me afraid to look at him. I feel frantic at the thought of my little ones slipping past me no matter how vigilantly I try to herd them to safety.
Days pass. Richard and Jason have taken to vandalizing my home, wielding whatever makeshift weapons they can find to smash anything that looks valuable. I have to work hard to keep my best treasures hidden away. They gorge themselves and hoard food and supplies as if they are back on the streets rather than living in a fine house with their pick of any object they could desire. They curse at shadows, regardless of whether I am hiding in them or not, and are careful to watch over each other's sleep.
Timothy is calm, but he worries me more. He will destroy objects if his brothers put a weapon into his hand and direct him to, but unlike them, he only does so perfunctorily, and never on his own initiative. He does not fear or hate the shadows, and he sleeps straight through each night without a care for his safety.
Instead, he methodically snubs me. He passes over any treats or delicacies I try to tempt him with and takes only plain fare from the cabinets and refrigerator. He pretends he cannot hear the few times I manage to catch him alone and try to call to him. He returned all the pictures he borrowed to their original places, leaving a simple pile of blankets for his bed. He took the notepad he used to communicate with me and shut it up in a drawer.
He is doing a very effective job of treating me as if I don't exist.
I need to speak to Timothy, but he won't respond to me. I wait until he quietly gets up early in the morning to use the bathroom. When he exits, I step into view and pick him up, covering his mouth so he cannot call out for help. He is tense but unresisting as I fall back into a shadow and travel through it to an empty room far from his brothers.
My hand drops from his mouth and he sits up in my arms, looking around in interest. "How did--?" Then he catches himself and goes silent, sinking back.
I place him on top of a tall dresser so I can look into his face without bending uncomfortably. It feels wrong and terrible to bare my visage so plainly to someone, especially to such an innocent, but Tim does not recoil. Indeed, he sits primly, hands folded in his lap, and gazes over my shoulder at the wall.
"Timothy," I say, "things cannot go on like this. I know you have more influence over your brothers than you have been exercising. Please tell them to stop their futile resistance, that they are safe and need only to accept the gifts given to them."
There is no response. I become alarmed at the sudden thought that I might somehow be invisible, unperceived. I grasp the child and give him a small shake. He wobbles in my grip; surely he felt that? "Timothy, can you hear me?"
"I can hear you," he says calmly, his eyes still on the wall.
"...Will you cooperate?"
"No, thank you," he says politely.
I stare at him, at this defiant child. I feel angry. I also feel...devastated. I feel like I've lost something precious that I will never get back. "I just want you to be safe," I whisper.
"We're very safe here," he says pleasantly, still looking at the wall.
I understand his meaning. For as long as I hold them captive, the children will be safe, but they will never be happy. "Please, Timothy."
"Please, Bruce," he returns.
Dammit. He is too strong, I cannot withstand him.
I take him into my arms and step into a shadow, emerging in the corridor where Richard and Jason are frantically calling for their brother, opening door after door in their search for him. I set Timothy on his feet and he trots over to them immediately. "Tim!" Richard cries, rushing to hug him.
"Where the HELL were you?!" Jason screams.
"Bruce took me, but it's okay. I'm okay," Timothy says.
"Tim," Richard breathes, horrified. He drops to his knees and searches for injuries.
Jason screams again and seizes a decorative clock off a nearby table, pounding it to shards against the wall in a flurry of panic and rage.
"It's okay! I'm okay, he didn't hurt me!" Timothy insists. "There's not a scratch, see? He just wanted to talk."
"What did he make you do?" Richard demands.
"Nothing, Dick, I swear. He just picked me up and we sort of melted through shadows like teleporting, it was so cool. He talked to me, and then he brought me back."
Richard stares at him.
"I swear, Dick, he just talked. He didn't hurt me, it wasn't even scary."
"I'll kill him," Jason snarls, pressing his fists and forehead against the wall. "I'll kill that fucker."
Timothy pulls away from Richard and goes to his other brother. "It's okay, Jay," he says softly.
Jason turns and grabs him. He holds Timothy tightly and cries. Richard comes over to hug them both.
They stand like that for a while, and my heart arches to see their misery.
o.o.o
I brood during every quiet moment that night. When I return home at dawn, I find my little ones as before: Timothy asleep out of resolution rather than trust, Jason's dreams troubled, Richard keeping watch, glassy-eyed and exhausted as he slowly strokes Jason's hair.
They are wasting away in my care. What good is it to keep them safe if they wilt like flowers starved of the sun?
I unlock all the doors. I go to curl up in my nest and slip into Timothy's dreams.
He is currently dreaming that he is an archaeologist, carefully picking through a field of stones. Each time he unearths a severed but bloodless bit of a human body, he carefully drops it into the bag at his side. He collects a finger and what might be part of an eyelid as I approach and settle near him. "Timothy," I say.
He glances at me, and I realize he is visualizing me as a very large dog again. "You're mean, Bruce," he says conversationally, and stoops to sift through the next patch of rocks. He delicately extracts an ear and slips it into his bag.
"I am letting you and your brothers go."
He pauses, then straightens and looks at me, frowning. "No, you're not."
"You have overcome me. I am releasing you. Take whatever you wish and leave this place."
"...You're nicer when I'm asleep," he finally remarks. He doesn't think the apparition he is speaking to is truly me.
"I love you, Timothy," I say. I lower my canine snout and nuzzle the side of his head. He chuckles and pats my neck. I turn away and lope out of the child's dream and into my own, miserable and resigned and alone.
TBC
Comments are appreciated, even on old fics!
A/N: I'm really sorry for the delay. Although I moved on to a new fandom (The Murderbot Diaries book series by Martha Wells <3), I am still working on some WIPs for older fandoms, including this one. I spent this whole past week working on Refuge and finally managed to finish and post a chapter, as well as start the next one. It might be a while before I can update again, but I am trying, and it is incredibly motivating and encouraging to hear from readers who are still reading and enjoying the story. :) Refuge is my only fic at the moment getting the level of engagement I'd been used to before 2024; my general readership has noticeably dropped since then (did I make people mad? Has the fandom landscape changed significantly and I didn't notice??), so I appreciate the Refuge crowd even more.
It ended up not happening this way at all, but I still love Sircorky's guess a few chapters ago about the kids meeting Bruce properly:
Dick: You have wings, I’m jealous, take me flying
Jason: So Edgy and Gothic and cool!
Tim: So are you friends with Bigfoot?
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Unrelated to the fic, but I plan to include certain Scripture on every chapter or story I post unless/until the situation IRL improves.
Matthew 7
Matthew 18:7
Matthew 23
Luke 12:22-34
Psalm 37