Chapter Text
RJ sat in one of Ma’s high-backed counter chairs, arms up over his head and his hands hidden behind his head. His cheeks were puffed out and his sullen gaze was on the plate in front of him.
“They’re brussels sprouts,” Clark said.
RJ turned his suspicious gaze from the greenery steaming in front of him and up to Clark. He didn’t unhide his hands, though. It was his way of telling Clark “I’m not talking to you,” when he wanted to be obvious about it.
RJ wrinkled his nose.
“They’re good for you,” Clark said.
RJ’s face contorted into the purest look of disgust he could manage.
“Ma made them,” Clark tried.
RJ scoffed and turned his nose up and away. He’d barely touched the rice or grilled chicken, and he’d only eaten a singular lettuce leaf out of his salad, but filling up on food wasn’t the point. He wasn’t quite weaned from the plain, drab, nutrition-only diet that the Court had employed, generally with courses made entirely of nutritional supplements that looked a lot like oversized horse pills. Yeah, the point wasn’t to fill the kid up with normal food, it was to get him to try new things.
“Give it a chance, Dickie,” Clark said.
RJ shook his head back and forth, once, in an exaggerated motion.
“Why not?”
RJ slouched down in the chair and curled his fingers around the rounded bow back that kept the back rungs in place. He reached over the backs of his own shoulders to do so.
“Dickie,” Clark sighed.
Ma Kent walked into the room, dusting her hands off on her apron. “Mm, I hope the little one’s been eating,” she said. She definitely had heard Clark, though. “Would be a shame if he couldn’t have a cookie, wouldn’t it?” She met RJ’s eye.
For a long moment, RJ just pouted at her. Then he let go of the chair-back and sat up straight. He held up one finger.
“Yes, just one,” Clark said, quickly. “One brussels sprout, kiddo.”
RJ took a swipe at his fork, knocking it toward the far end of the counter he sat at, then picked up one, small brussels sprout. He showed Clark, scowling.
“Oh, act like that and you won’t have a cookie either way, young man,” Ma put her hands on her hips and faced RJ head on. “You might not think much of my silverware, and that’s fine. But you will not disrespect my things or my house like that, or you won’t get treats.”
RJ kept his eyes narrowed as he looked from Clark to Ma.
He seemed to draw a conclusion of some kind, not that he was sharing what it was, and deflated in place. He tapped a closed fist against his sternum in a begrudging apology, set the brussels sprout back on his plate, then stood on the bottom rung of the chair so that he could reach over and get the fork back.
Clark deflated in relief.
“I understand,” Ma said, softer now that she’d been respected. “You miss your pa. Mm?” She glanced at Clark, eye twinkling a bit. “Your other pa, I mean.”
“Ma,” Clark covered his mouth, laughing. “We’re not married or anything.”
RJ, however, was nodding. He took his open hand, fingers splayed, and tapped the side of his temple with his hand, then made a “B.” Then he set the fork down and sat back down.
“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Clark said. “He’s busy.”
RJ gave a long sigh, then picked the brussels sprout back up. He shook it emphatically and raised an eyebrow at Clark.
“Yes, that’s enough,” Clark said.
RJ took a bite of it. And then set it back down. He gave Clark another raised-eyebrow challenge.
“That’s enough, too,” Clark shrugged.
Ma clicked her tongue. “One of these days, I’m going to find something good for him that he’ll eat a whole portion of,” she said. Then she signed a “thank you.” “I appreciate you giving it a try, Dick.”
RJ pouted, then snatched the uneaten half of the brussels sprout, shoved it in his mouth, and shot out of his seat and out the back door.
Ma chuckled behind him.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get into trouble,” Clark promised.
“Oh, he can’t possibly get into more trouble than you did, at that age.”
--
RJ took to climbing the different buildings on the Kent farm. There weren’t all that many, but it gave him something to do that didn’t immediately get him in trouble. He hadn’t figured out how to express it yet, and it only got harder as he got more frustrated, but Ma was right and he missed Bruce.
It wasn’t that Clark and Ma Kent weren’t enough, either. They were very nice. Too nice, sometimes. Even when they were trying to get him to do something.
It was uncomfy, when people were too nice.
Most people were too nice, after RJ’s experience with the Court, though. Bruce was too nice, too, but he came with a lot of structure and what Clark called “emotional constipation,” which made it easier to tolerate the Nice.
--
A few days later, RJ was in the opposite position and just as frustrated.
He had B, but Clark had to go do his Superhero Thing somewhere, so RJ didn’t have B and Clark. Just B. And it took the swap of temporary custody for him to realize it wasn’t as simple as him wanting B. He had B! He didn’t have Clark, though, and that’s what clued him into the idea that, maybe, he wanted both.
Talons didn’t get things, or get to want them. Not really.
RJ had learned that it was okay to want things, and receive them. But sometimes it still caught him off guard, experiencing a want out of nowhere like that. And he wanted Clark and B. Both of his favourite people. Preferably in the same place.
“Come on, chum,” Bruce said.
RJ snapped his gaze up to look at Bruce. Then narrowed his eyes. Maybe he didn’t have B, today, after all.
Bruce raised an eyebrow, but it didn’t change the mask he was wearing.
It wasn’t a real mask. B had one of those, too, as Batman. That was different. RJ liked Batman just fine. But Neal Caffrey was just... RJ didn’t know. It was a job.
All the same, RJ didn’t give much more than an exaggerated sigh to show his disapproval before he got to his feet and padded over to Bruce. He took Bruce’s hand, because he was allowed to do that and – even if he might not be the right age for it – he liked to.
B snorted softly, but didn’t say anything. “Remember, don’t give the nice agents heart attacks, mm?”
RJ sighed again, louder.
“It’s only for a few hours. Clark will pick you up from the office before I’m even done there. You’ll be back on the Kent Farm before you know it. I hear you’ve been making friends with the chickens?”
RJ shrugged.
Bruce picked up RJ’s booster – RJ still hated it – and walked RJ halfway down the stairs... and then right back up when he realized that RJ was barefoot. “Chum,” he sighed. “Where are your sneakers? I know you don’t like them—”
RJ clicked his teeth loudly, slid his hand from Bruce’s, and disappeared into the Neal apartment to get the sneakers. Or, that was what he knew he should be doing, anyway. Instead, after he pulled them out from the couch cushions, when Neal was glancing at his phone, he made a bid for escape.
“Okay, kid, are you r—Dick?” Bruce called.
RJ scrambled his way from balcony ledge to the roof of June’s building. This was why sneakers were stupid. Climbing was easier with toes and feet and not-shoes. Sneakers were clunky and noisier than no sneakers even if RJ could certainly make them quiet with enough effort.
“Richard?” Bruce called.
RJ sat on the roof and wiggled in place, pleased. No booster seat up on the roof. And no sneakers. And maybe Bruce would have to call Clark back to find him! Okay, he knew the last one was a bit of a stretch. Bruce was a detective – and a pretty good one, at that – so he probably wouldn’t need Clark to find RJ.
Below, RJ could hear Bruce go out onto his balcony. “RJ, come on,” he called. It sounded like he already had a pretty good idea where RJ had gone. “Peter is going to be upset with me if he’s made to wait much longer. What’s up, chum? Can we talk about it?”
RJ scoffed quietly – something he’d picked up from listening to Bruce interact with the Justice League – and crossed his arms. They couldn’t “talk” about it. Much less when RJ didn’t know what it is he’d need to talk about to make things any better. And if he tried to communicate, when he didn’t know what it was he was trying to communicate, he’d just get more frustrated, which would just make it even harder to communicate.
Bruce sighed, below.
RJ transferred from his bum to his knees and crawled to the edge of the roof to look down at Bruce.
Predictably, Bruce was looking up at the roof and spotted him immediately. “Richard,” he said. It was his warning voice. Probably. RJ wasn’t one hundred percent on which tones meant what, yet.
RJ popped back out of sight.
Bruce probably would have climbed after him, but a conveniently timed knock came at the apartment door. Bruce sighed, to himself (even if RJ could hear it), and returned to the inside of his apartment to let the visitor in.
Predictably, it was Agent Burke. “Neal, are you ready?”
“Yes, but—”
“Let’s go.” Burke was obviously in a hurry to get to the office. The probably had some important case they were in the middle of, given that he and Neal wouldn’t be late even if they took another five or ten minutes before they left. They certainly weren’t late, yet.
“I can’t.”
“What?”
“I can’t, sorry.”
“At all? What, you need a sick day? You don’t look sick.”
There was a moment of silence. Even from his perch, on the roof, RJ could just about feel the deadpan, unimpressed look that Bruce was probably giving the FBI agent. “My son is on the roof.”
Another beat of silence, this one disbelieving.
RJ giggled – once – into his hands. He could just about imagine Peter’s face, caught between exasperation and disbelief. But RJ had certainly done enough ridiculous things over the past few months where Agent Burke would no doubt have to consider that RJ could, and probably would, do something like that.
“Seriously?” Agent Burke asked.
“Yes. Unfortunately,” Bruce said.
RJ crawled back over to the edge, so that he could see the moment that Agent Burke realized that, no, “Neal” wasn’t even exaggerating.
Agent Burke walked out onto the balcony and turned around, raising his gaze to the roof. Agent Burke’s footsteps stuttered back as he caught sight of RJ, who put a hand up in a sort of wave, then wiggled his fingers.
“Why is he up there?” Agent Burke asked.
“I told him to put on his sneakers,” Bruce said.
“What?”
“He doesn’t like them.” Bruce shrugged.
“You can’t just leave him up there,” Agent Burke motioned between Bruce and RJ.
“I had no intention of just leaving him up there, Peter,” Bruce scowled at Peter, clearly displeased to even have that implied. “That’s why I said I couldn’t go. My son...” he motioned up at RJ, “My son is on the roof and doesn’t want to come down.”
“Just tell him he doesn’t have to wear the shoes!” Agent Burke hissed.
“But he does have to wear the shoes,” Bruce frowned.
RJ watched Agent Burke and Bruce go back and forth a bit more, Peter offering a method of coaxing RJ down and Bruce shaking his head and explaining why that either wouldn’t work or already hadn’t worked, in the past. It got to the point where Bruce and Agent Burke were probably going to be late to work, unless they sped through all the lights and stop signs. That was when RJ elected to climb back down, on his own.
He startled Agent Burke by appearing behind him, first. Just to see the agent jump. Then he smiled prettily – a practiced expression that made Wally shudder with the affected plastic look of it – and then turned his attention to Bruce.
From whom he demanded a snack.
“Will you put on your sneakers if I make you a snack?” Bruce asked.
Never mind that RJ wouldn’t be able to eat much of it, probably.
“Popcorn?” Bruce suggested.
Oh.
Oh!
That was something RJ could eat, actually. He didn’t have as much trouble with popcorn, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, or unseasoned nuts as he did with other foods. It made him feel that much more bird-like, though not necessarily in a bad way.
He nodded and went to fetch his shoes.
Agent Burke recovered from his startlement. “Did he seriously climb down the...?”
“Yeah, don’t question it,” Bruce waved him off.
Instead of popping corn, fresh, in the microwave, Bruce grabbed a bag of lightly salted popcorn from the snack cupboard. It was the faster version of the “fast” snack, for late-getting-out-the-door to-go situations like the one RJ had just finished causing.
--
Later, in the office, Clark did in fact show up to take RJ off Bruce’s hands.
RJ tucked himself under Bruce’s Neal desk, though, and put his fingers in his ears when Bruce and Clark tried to coax him out.
“He doesn’t usually do that,” Clark murmured.
RJ could still hear them just fine. He was just trying to show them that he wasn’t listening.
“No,” Bruce agreed.
“He was hiding his hands, when we were at the Farm, too.”
“He climbed up to the roof of June’s home, today,” Bruce sighed. He knelt down. “Hey, chum? Come on, I know you can hear me.” He didn’t put a hand on RJ’s shoulder, which was a good idea. Sometimes, RJ curled up because he was anxious, or remembering something too vividly. When he was like that, it was a bad idea to touch him, usually.
He was curled up. Bruce didn’t know if he was anxious or not. It was a good choice to not touch.
That didn’t stop RJ from resenting, just a little, not getting that solid presence of Bruce confirmed for him. Because he wanted Bruce nearby. And Clark. Both of them. But if he got out from under the desk, Clark would take him back to the Farm and he’d still only have one dad when he wanted both.
“Neal?” Agent Burke’s voice travelled to RJ from the other side of the desk.
Bruce sighed, leaned back on his heels, then stood.
RJ was irrationally angry to have Bruce’s attention taken away, again. But frustrated in a way that made his eyes feel hot and leaky. He’d cried a few times since being saved from the Court (even if he did most of his own saving himself), but the feeling was still weird. RJ snuffled while Bruce and Agent Burke talked, apparently about RJ.
“B,” Clark said, softly.
It wasn’t something he was supposed to say when Bruce was “Neal,” so it probably got Bruce’s attention right away.
There was silence for a moment.
Then Bruce knelt down again. “Oh, kid,” he breathed. This time he did reach for RJ.
RJ, frustrated and teary, scrambled into the offered embrace. He knew he’d be asked what was wrong, but since it was mostly frustration and not knowing how to express himself, he probably wouldn’t be able to communicate what was bothering him, even though it apparently bothered him enough to bring on tears.
Clark must have heard his snuffle and directed Bruce back to him.
Agent Burke was watching them, then he sighed and checked his watch. “There’s not much, today, Caffrey. Don’t make a habit of this whole...” he motioned vaguely.
“What?” Bruce looked up. RJ buried his face in Bruce’s chest.
“Take your kid and your boyfriend and go, Neal. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Kal was going to be leaving soon—”
“Take care of the kid, Neal,” Agent Burke said.
Stiffness that RJ hadn’t quite registered, in either himself or Bruce, left the both of them.
“Thank you, Peter,” Bruce said.
“Don’t mention it,” Agent Burke said. Then he walked away.
Bruce and Clark waited until he was in his office, then Clark turned back to Bruce. “I thought you were in the middle of a big case?” he murmured.
“We are,” Bruce agreed.
“So there was...”
“Yeah, we had a lot of work to get through, today,” Bruce nodded. He stood again, cradling RJ as best he could in the semi-awkward, curled up position that RJ had contorted himself into.
--
At some point, after trying some new foods and watching a Disney movie (Beauty and the Beast) with Bruce and Clark, RJ was able to gather enough of his emotions into thoughts to express them. He only really managed an “I miss you” to Bruce and Clark, each, but they seemed to understand.
Instead of heading back to the Farm right away after the movie, Clark elected to stay the night in the City, with Bruce, so that it could be all three of them, at least through breakfast. They put on The Little Mermaid after the first movie was over, because it was one of RJ’s favourites, and RJ dozed, half splayed across Bruce and Clark’s laps.
RJ didn’t need to sleep, really, but he’d been penting up his frustration for a while, and that had made all his rest for the past few days less restful. So, he managed to fall through his doze into actual sleep, on the couch in Bruce’s Neal apartment.