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“Bruce,” Jason’s little voice piped up from behind the old god and Bruce couldn’t help the happy jump his heart did. He hadn’t even had Jason for two hundred years and he had already found himself completely attached to the young godling.
He hadn’t been sure that he would be able to adopt another godling after Lance’s death. He thought maybe he wouldn’t be able to take another in, especially as Augustus’s temper grew bolder with his age. Maybe Clark and Diana were right and he was taking on lost causes that were doomed to fail, setting himself up for heartbreak when they needed to be put down. And yet, though Augustus railed in his perceived cage and lashed out against Bruce for putting him inside it, he had not killed any humans. Bruce found himself once again drawn to a little godling in a towering Gothic cathedral with tears streaming down his cheeks. He had thought his great experiment had been crumbling around him, but it remained firm.
His little family somehow had grown.
“Bruce,” Jason repeated, excitement clear in his tone. “I made a friend!”
Bruce snorted a chuckle through his nose, not yet turning around because he was just finishing this knot for their tent. “That’s great, bud,” he said, proud of his boy.
Jason was having a bit of a rough time ever since Dick fully went off to be on his own a couple years ago. Bruce would be lying if he didn’t also admit he was having a rough time of it too. Augustus had been by Bruce’s side for nearly one thousand years and he had grown to love his bird’s constant presence. Augustus had always been there to make a sharp comment, or give perspective Bruce had not considered. Missing him was like missing a limb, and Bruce was still trying to figure out how to recalibrate his life around the loss.
Despite how much Dick said that Bruce put him in a cage by taking him in, Bruce hadn’t stopped Dick when he said he wanted to try being on his own without Bruce.
And perhaps, that’s why Dick kept coming back, flitting into Bruce’s life every couple years like a bird revisiting a nest. Someday, Bruce hoped, he might come to roost permanently again.
It would be too hopeful to think that Dick was returning solely for him, though. Dick and Jason had grown close in the century that they shared while following Bruce. Dick had been wary of the new godling at first, unsure of whether to love another sibling when the blood of the previous one still felt so fresh, but Jason was persistent. He latched onto Dick’s affections like a dog with a bone, and didn’t let them go. When Dick had named Jason, bequeathing onto him a Roman name from one of Augustus’s own champions, Bruce knew it was all over for the younger god. Their brotherhood was cemented for what Bruce hoped would be many centuries to come.
Jason missed his older brother fiercely. He missed having a playmate while Bruce conducted his Trinity duties and interacting with another godling closer to his age. Having a friend would be really good for him.
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“Tim!” said a voice that wasn’t his son’s.
Bruce froze, blinked and then turned around.
Jason was smiling, big and bright, and holding the hand of one of the smallest, scruffiest and dirtiest godlings that Bruce had ever seen in his life. The other godling, Tim apparently, was also smiling. One of his teeth was missing and one of them was chipped. He was too pale and slightly the wrong colour. There was an openly bleeding and slightly green wound on one of his arms that he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention too. The wound was dripping and Bruce really, really hoped that he hadn’t just seen something small and white squirming in the torn flesh.
Tim seemed to notice Bruce staring at the wound and his smile widened. “I’m dying!”
Jason frowned and turned to Tim. “Tim, remember, you’re not supposed to say that.”
“Oh.” Tim’s smile cracked and he looked to Jason, unsure. Before, he could say anything, though, Bruce swept in, taking his son’s arm and drawing him away from the godling.
“Jason, get away from him,” he said, tucking his son close to his hip and within the drape of his long cape. Jason, through decades of training, immediately knew where to stand by Bruce’s side, but he didn’t seem happy about it.
“Tim is my friend,” he declared, stamping one of his little feet while he glared fiercely up at Bruce.
“I told you not to talk to godlings who haven’t been judged yet,” explained Bruce, slowly. Splitting his attention between Jason and Tim. The other godling looked puzzled and he absentmindedly picked at a scab on his right hand.
Bruce was sure that he’d never seen this godling before, though that wasn’t too surprising. Everyday, there were hundreds of ideas that could develop into dozens of potential godlings. Only a few matured enough to actually take a human shape and even less got to the point where they could maintain a godhood. This godling was very young, probably not older than a couple decades, and seemed to be just barely old enough to solidly hold a face. He was far too young for Clark to have nominated him, let alone be fit for Bruce’s judgement. He would probably still have another fifty years before he got on the docket.
“Tim’s nice, though!” insisted Jason, ignoring Bruce’s direction completely. He tugged at his hand in Bruce’s, meagerly trying to break free. “He’ll ace judgment, no problem.”
Bruce… doubted that. A godling that was fixated on death at such an early age was a worrying sign. Fascination with death could easily slip into obsession, which could become wanting to initiate it himself. Bruce had seen that slippery slope before, but it could be avoided with the proper guidance of a firm-handed god. It was obvious, however, that Tim didn’t have a god looking after him given his dirty, thin state. No god worth their salt would ever let their godling run around looking like this.
“Still, you’re not supposed to talk to godlings before they have been judged,” Bruce repeated, trying to shuffle Jason further away from Tim. “It’s for your safety, Jason.”
“But why?” whined Jason, now trying to tug even more strongly out of Bruce’s grasp.
“Because unjudged godlings are dangerous,” Bruce said, leaning down to pick up Jason. Jason squirming in his arms but still let himself be lifted and leaned into Bruce’s body. “Being near them could put you in danger.”
Jason was young, not even three centuries old yet, and Bruce hadn’t yet fully explained why godlings got judged or what could happen to them. He hadn’t wanted to tell Jason how close he had come to death or how much danger Jason was still in. Clark and Diana were watching Jason closely, and he couldn’t afford any mistakes. They hadn’t been happy about Dick. They had been furious about Lance and thought that he would be the end to Bruce’s godling madness. They had nearly taken Jason away from him the moment they laid eyes on him and it was their love for Bruce that was the only thing that was keeping Jason alive. Bruce didn’t want to do anything to push that. He just wanted to raise Jason to love humanity and grow up to be a benevolent god that no one could argue against.
He had learned from Lance about the dangers of letting a godling wander too far and be persuaded by ideas outside of Bruce’s ears. Lance had died because he had been tricked without Bruce knowing.
Bruce was keeping Jason much closer.
He was going to keep Jason alive.
“Shoo,” said Bruce, waving the other godling away and making him skitter back a couple feet. He still hesitated at the edge of their camp, eyes wide. “Leave us and do not interact with my son.”
“But, Dad–”
“No buts, Jason,” Bruce growled.
The little godling was still sticking around and Bruce sighed internally. He drew up a bit of magic, not enough to hurt but enough to scare, and threw it towards the godling. His magic sprang into existence and smacked against the earth with a thundercrack. Jason clapped his hands over his ears and the little godling shrieked before turning tail and disappearing back into the woods.
“You scared him away!” yelled Jason when he saw that the godling wasn’t coming back. His face instantly turned towards anger and Bruce saw a little flash of the god Jason could have become. The one that dealt only in retribution and would have razed the earth for a grudge. It was a feeling Bruce knew all too well.
“I’m sorry,” said Bruce, not rising to meet his son’s anger. “I promise that I only wanted to protect you.”
Jason obviously didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t understand and he didn’t have an argument. So instead he snarled, “I hate you”, twisted out of Bruce’s arms and stomped off into their tent to cool off.
Bruce sighed to himself and gave his son time. Jason didn’t speak to him again that evening, but he also didn’t hesitate to curl up against Bruce’s chest when he came into the tent to sleep. Jason didn’t pull away when Bruce carded through his hair or kissed his forehead, and in the morning things were back to normal.
Bruce had hoped that that would be the end of it and Jason would eventually forget the little godling.
But he didn’t.
Peace hadn’t even lasted a week.
Because on the fourth day after seeing the godling, Bruce found Jason trying to stuff an entire loaf of bread into one of his bags.
“Jason, what are you doing?”
The godling whipped around trying to hide the bag behind his back. The end of the loaf was still obviously sticking out of one side and Bruce’s gaze pointedly went to it with a raised eyebrow. Jason’s hands scrambled to hide it behind him, but then the other half stuck out.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you trying to steal an entire loaf of bread?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re obviously trying to shove it into a bag that’s too small for it.”
“You can’t prove that.”
Almost on cue, the bread fell out of the bag and then plopped onto the floor.
Bruce gave Jason a flat look and Jason kept his stubborn chin up as if the fall had never happened.
“Where are you going off to with a loaf of bread?”
“What loaf?”
Bruce breathed in heavily and tried to keep a stern face. “Jason, do not act dumb. You were clearly trying to steal a loaf of bread out of our camp.”
Jason’s little face pinched. “I was not stealing,” he said, changing tactics. “You said when you took me in, that everything you had was also mine. I could take food whenever I wanted; I am just taking what is already mine.”
“Suspiciously off into the woods.”
“Maybe I just want to eat in the woods.”
“Jason,” said Bruce, getting quite done with arguing around in circles. “Just tell me what’s going on. I promise I will listen.”
Jason still didn’t answer. He looked down and kicked his foot into the dirt below him, bringing up a little dust cloud. He remained stubbornly silent and Bruce knew from experience that he could stay firm for a long, long, time.
A direct approach would be quicker.
“Alright, let’s go into the woods,” said Bruce, picking up the loaf and then striding in the direction Jason had been sneaking towards.
Jason squawked behind him, scampering to Bruce’s side. “Wait, no.” Jason’s hands grabbed Bruce’s shirt and tried to pull him back, leveraging all the weight he could muster to try to stop Bruce. Unfortunately for him, Bruce was much older and much heavier and have over a thousand years experience in handling his brats.
He just towed Jason along with him as the godling put all his efforts into being older and heavier.
It didn’t take long for Bruce to find what Jason was hiding. He hadn’t even seemed to be trying to hide. He was just barely past the first bush and didn’t try to run when Bruce approach.
“Hi!” Tim chirped, blinking up at the god. He smiled all of his teeth yellow and his gums black. There was blood sprayed across cheeks and chin like he had coughed and hadn’t even bothered to wipe it up. When he talked, he filled the air with a putrid stench. “I’m dying again!”
“Tim!” Jason snapped and Tim’s eyes widened.
“I mean to say, that I think I’m getting better. I’m feeling…” He looked towards Jason who was making some kind of weird motion with his hands. “Like rain.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Like rain?” Jason was still motioning furiously.
“Hail,” Tim corrected. “I’m feeling like hail.”
He seemed satisfied with himself even as Jason dropped his head in his hands and Bruce’s glare tightened.
“I told you not to interact with my son,” he growled, putting fury into his voice so that this little godling knew that he was not going to be trifled with. “Do you know who I am? I am not someone that likes getting disobeyed.”
He drew up the shadows around him, calling up darkness for between the etching cracks in his bones. The world darkened in their small sphere of existence. He let his magic grow and become more oppressive, settling like a heavy cape around his shoulders and weighing down on everything around him.
For most gods, it would be terrifyinig to taste the sheer amount of years that Bruce had hidden in his body. Even Jason was cowed slightly, shuffling closer to Bruce and ducking his head.
But the little, stinky godling just tilted his head.
“I know who you are,” he said, voice surprisingly even and it almost startled Bruce into cutting the act. “You are –” he said a name that Bruce hadn’t heard in centuries in a language he long thought dead. One he hadn’t mentioned to Jason. He wasn’t even sure he had told it to Dick. An impossibly rare name that this decades old god shouldn’t have the ability to know. “You are the god of Justice. One of the Trinity. The Birdkeeper. Father of the Butcherbird and the Mourning Dove.”
“Don’t call them that,” Bruce snapped quickly, instant anger flaring at the names.
Tim’s head tilted even further. His eyes narrowed, gaze too keen for his years and Bruce got the unsettling sensation that he was being picked apart. Like someone was rooting through his body, picking up bones from his flesh, reading the sigils written into them, and then placing them back.
“You’re uneasy about their reputations?” Tim said lightly, not quite a question. The tone was light and litting up at the end, but it was almost as if he was asking himself.
“Enough,” said Bruce, trying to dismiss the line of conversation. “I’m not here to discuss my children with you. I told you to leave and not to interact with Jason.”
Just like that, the little godling seemed to snap back into his guileless impish nature. “But I like Jason! And Jason likes me!”
“This isn’t up for argument. If I find you following us again, there will be consequences.” He didn’t really know what the consequences would be exactly, but Tim didn’t need to know that. He should be at least intimidated by Bruce, especially after the show of power. “Leave now. Don’t come back.”
Tim blinked and his eyes went to Jason. Bruce’s son gave a tiny nod and the feral godling sighed like this was all a big convenience.
“Fine,” he said turning around. “See you later Jason.”
“No, you won’t,” said Bruce, turning his son in the opposite direction. They were leaving this entire region. Tonight.
***
It was harder to find his new friend next time, but Tim eventually did.
It was so silly to think that he wouldn’t.
Tim was smart.
Tim was curious.
Tim was relentless.
The Birdkeeper put up a good chase, taking himself and his little creature up into the fjord forests. The biggest reason it took Tim so long to find them at all was the sheer amount of walking. He wasn’t old enough or powerful enough to transport himself into places like the old gods did, so he had to use his own legs.
It was a long walk, but Tim did it.
He found his friend and the old god in a small fishing village on the coast. The old god was performing his job as the judge and investigating whether a godling was connected to a recent death in the village. Tim had seen him taking various human forms and asking questions in the population, using familiar faces to make small inquiries. It was almost enough to distract Tim from his main goal and get lost in all the rumours surrounding the death. But he remained focused because this was his chance, the old god had left his pup unattended.
Tim pounced.
“Tim!” Jason cried as Tim tackled him, rolling them both across the floor like kittens. Tim laughed as Jason began to fight him, giggling between attempts to be the boy on top. Jason won, mostly because he was able to appear older (just a little! They weren’t that far in age and Tim was catching up!) and they collapsed with panting breaths.
“How did you find us?” Jason asked, sitting up with his chest heaving.
“I followed your clues,” said Tim also sitting up, mirroring Jason with his body. “Your father is good at hiding, but I’m better at finding.”
His friend’s face scrunched, eyebrows crinkling together. “There’s no way you were able to follow clues from Bruce. He’s an old god. He’s one of the Trinity.”
Tim was used to doubts and he just shrugged his little shoulders. “I love rumours and even the gods leave them in their wake. The hardest part was actually getting here. I had to walk.”
“The entire way?” Jason gasped and Tim gravely shook his head.
“I walked and then once I found you, I waited until you were alone because I knew your father would be mad.”
Jason looked confused again and Tim wondered how often he used that face.
“I’m not alone.”
Perhaps Tim should not have criticised Jason’s face because now he was making the same one.
“Bruce is not here, though?”
“No, he isn’t, but he left me with–”
A dark voice purred from behind Tim and an involuntary shiver raced up his spine.
“Me,” said the Butcherbird as he stalked into the small room, with a feline grace that Tim couldn’t help but envy.
In all his months of following the Judge and his younger Bird, he had never seen the first son. He had heard about him, though. Tales of the Roman stretched all across the continent and, though they varied in how they were told, they always ended in blood.
One god told Tim that the blood of the Germanic gods that tore through Rome stained his feet so much that he still left bloody footprints where he walked.
Another god said that he had come so close to spoiling that he had wolf fangs in his mouth that he couldn’t get rid of.
Another god said that instead of magic written into his bones, he had the last words of his victims written into his bones.
Given how much Tim had heard about him, he actually seemed… rather normal.
He was in a handsome male shape that was darker than any of the humans in this area. Despite that though, he wore the war leathers of the area, with Nordic runes and carvings of ravens decorated across the straps. Fur lined his boots and there was an entire wolf pelt across his shoulders. He wore no helmet and his dark hair was a wild mess around a delicate face.
An axe was strapped to his hip and the edge hadn’t been cleaned. Dried blood flaked on the silver and it stank of a dead god.
But there was no blood in his footprints. There were no wolf teeth in his smile. Tim didn’t know how the little god would have been able to look at his bones.
“I got put on babysitting duty,” he said, prowling across the room with a steady confidence that made Tim, for the first time, doubt whether this was the best idea.
Maybe he wasn’t the rumors that were said about him, but one thing was certain.
The god of Justice did not kill.
The same couldn’t be said for his son.
The god stopped near Jason, not so subtly reaching out and tugging the younger godling close to his side. Jason jerked, but went just as he had with the old god. He did not seem perturbed by the Butcherbird in the slightest. He didn’t seem to mind that the blood of the slain was now inches from his face. He actually seemed to lean towards the touch, standing comfortably at the other god’s hip.
“Who are you, little mouse? Who are you to sneak into our house?” the god said with a smile. It was not kind. Maybe they weren’t wolf teeth, but they were sharp.
“I am Tim,” said Tim, trying to sound very confident. “I am Jason’s friend.”
The Butcherbird was quiet and Jason squirmed at his side.
“You are unjudged,” the god said, leaning a little closer. “You’re that little godling that disturbed Bruce.”
“Tim is going to ace judgement,” piped up Jason. “He’s gonna fly by it! No problem.”
The Butcherbird gave Tim a look of doubt that was almost exactly the same as his father’s. “You are too young for a godhood. What are you drawn towards?”
“I like rumours,” Tim said excited losing a bit of his fear as he thought of his favourite things. “I like mysteries. I like when people lie and trying to figure out why they did it. I also like being dead people!”
The god’s face grew grim.
“You like… being dead?”
Tim nodded enthusiastically and took one of his favourite shapes. A little girl. She had been killed by one of her brothers who tried to blame it on a horse. He had said that the mare kicked her, that’s why she had a gigantic chunk out of her head. He said nothing of the rock in the garden or his matchstick rage. The father had accepted but the mother was suspicious and she called an investigator. Tim had watched, enraptured as the investigator tore through the scene, the house, the brother’s lies. It had taken the man a day to find the rock and the truth. He had been able to solve the mystery that would have lived in the girl’s death if no one asked questions.
The whole process lit Tim on fire. It drove him to seek, to search, to try to fill that hole in himself. He became the dead to understand, to know what mysteries they could still hold.
But, it was also very lonely work. The dead are no great company. He had thought the Judge and his Birds would understand.
The Butcherbird’s face turned at the sight of the dead girl, though. He looked at Tim like he was the rotted meat he was pretending to be.
“I see,” he said simply, moving closer to Jason. Even Jason seemed a little sickened at the sight of Tim.
“What is your goal then?” asked the god, levelling Tim with a steely glare. “Why are you chasing after my brother?”
Tim wasn’t sure he had an answer. He knew that he was alone and that was a terrible thing. He often slept among the dead just to try to fight off the gnawing in his stomach.
There was a countess who had died in her bed from tuberculosis, that he had called his mother for a time. Tim had watched her waste away in her house, mad with the disease and the loneliness that came when her family abandoned her. He had taken the form of her dead child, Timothy, and kept her company until she passed. He had barely been able to hold a child’s shape, but he forced himself to because it had seemed like the only thing bringing her happiness in those final months.
After she had died, he had stayed, curled up near her side like a loyal dog as her body decayed. He hadn’t wanted to leave her arms. He cried at the thought of being alone in the world again.
To love is to be changed.
And Tim eventually had to drag himself out of that house to learn how to be a changed thing on his own.
That is why he had thought the Judge, who loved mysteries and lost causes, might perhaps love him too.
“I want to be one of you,” he said, speaking aloud his realisation as he came to it in his head. His desire was cementing into him as the words formed in the air. “I want to be a Bird.”
The other two Birds stared at him, disbelief clear on their faces. Tim knew this is when he had to push.
“How do I do it?” he demanded of the Butcherbird, speaking so forcefully, the other god actually looked a bit startled.
“I…umm… it is not something you apply for,” said the god, looking unbalanced for the first time in this conversation. “Bruce chose us. We were hand-picked.”
Tim took a step forward. “How do I make him pick me?”
“You don’t,” the god insisted. “He just chooses. As all things, it comes down to his Judgement.”
“So I must convince him then?”
“I…” Again, the god was lost for words. He shifted his weight on his feet, making the dangling jewelry on his outfit rattle together. “I guess so?”
“Good,” Tim said, striking his fist against his palm. “Then, I will do that.”
The Butcherbird blinked, his face going through about twelve different emotions until he snorted. Then, he chuckled. Then, he laughed, filling the entire space with the sound. Jason stared at him like he was going insane. Tim, also, didn’t quite understand what was so funny.
“Oh, it’s been a while since I lost a fight so badly,” he said, teeth glinting in the low light. Maybe, just maybe, they were a bit too sharp. “And I have a feeling that Bruce will lose just as badly.”