Chapter Text
Dick almost missed it.
The crane glowed softly among the lily pads.
At first he'd assumed it was one of Kiddo's weird light constructs.
Then it unfolded.
A voice filled the air.
Not from the crane.
Not from a speaker.
Just... everywhere.
Gentle. Young.
Wonder-filled.
"Gotham has many tall nests. I think humans like being birds but are afraid to admit it."
Silence.
The message faded.
Dick stared.
The crane dissolved into light.
Dick stared harder.
"...What."
Ten minutes later the entire family was gathered around the fountain.
Waiting.
Tim was recording.
Bruce was pretending he wasn't recording.
Another paper boat drifted lazily across the water.
Everyone froze.
The voice this time belonged to Violet.
Or at least... they assumed it was Violet.
The voice wasn't what they'd expected.
None of them could explain why.
It sounded young.
And old.
Like a child reading a story.
Like someone remembering one.
"Today I learned that coffee is bitter."
A pause.
"I drank three cups."
Another pause.
"This was a mistake."
Tim immediately burst out laughing.
Across the courtyard Violet looked deeply offended.
The messages became a problem.
Not because they were dangerous.
Because they were everywhere.
The Manor fountain.
Birdbath.
Batcave waterfall.
Kitchen sink.
One memorable incident involved a toilet.
Nobody spoke about that one.
Jason found one on a rooftop.
A tiny lantern bobbing in a puddle left by rain.
Kiddo's voice echoed around him.
"Red Hood is sad sometimes."
Jason immediately prepared to destroy the lantern.
"But he keeps helping people anyway."
He stopped.
The city hummed around him.
The message continued.
"I think bravery is continuing when the darkness does not leave."
The lantern vanished.
Jason sat down.
And stayed there for a while.
Damian's first message was equally disastrous.
A paper boat.
Batcave.
Violet's voice.
"Robin likes animals."
Damian nodded.
A sensible observation.
"He likes them more than most humans."
The family laughed.
Damian glared.
"This is understandable."
The laughing stopped.
Damian looked insufferably pleased.
Stephanie became obsessed with collecting them.
Not physically.
The messages disappeared after playing.
But she started writing them down.
Her notebook quickly filled.
Some were profound.
Some were ridiculous.
Some were both simultaneously.
"Darkness is not always evil. Sometimes darkness is a blanket."
"My favorite color changes every day. Today it is yellow because I saw a butterfly."
"Humans build clocks because they are afraid of losing moments. Skykids build memories because we know moments leave anyway."
"I tripped down stairs today."
A pause.
"The stairs won."
"If you are sad, drink water."
A longer pause.
"If that does not work, perhaps become a bird."
Dick eventually realized the messages were doing something strange to the family.
The voices were impossible.
They sounded neither male nor female.
Young but timeless.
Innocent but thoughtful.
Like listening to children who had spent centuries watching sunsets.
The messages didn't feel like conversations.
They felt like finding notes in library books.
Like overhearing thoughts that had escaped.
Little pieces of personhood.
Proof that beneath the masks and chirps and glowing eyes, there were entire inner worlds.
The one that got Bruce happened on a Tuesday.
Nobody knew it happened until later.
A small paper lantern floated through the cave's underground river.
Bruce found it alone.
Kiddo's voice echoed softly through the darkness.
"Sometimes people think they must carry everything themselves."
A pause.
Water trickled against stone.
"Light is not made weaker when shared."
Another pause.
Then:
"That is what candles are for."
The lantern dissolved.
Bruce stood motionless.
Hours later, Alfred found him sitting with Kiddo and Violet at the kitchen table.
Not working.
Not researching.
Just existing beside them while Violet drank tea and Kiddo attempted to teach him some incomprehensible hand gesture.
Alfred wisely said nothing.
And perhaps the strangest thing of all was this:
The messages were never directed at anyone.
Not really.
They were addressed to whoever happened to find them.
A stranger.
A friend.
A lost soul.
A tired vigilante.
Anyone.
The way Skykids seemed to approach the entire universe.
With the quiet belief that every person who crossed their path was worth leaving a little light behind for.