Bird
"You can't talk?"
Cassandra glances briefly at the boy. "My brother has…a voice, but does not use it. Our father…did not…give me words when I was a baby. My brother had words, but our father took them away."
Bruce has no idea what that means, exactly, but it sounds…concerning.
"Does your brother have a name?"
Cassandra looks at her brother again and the boy shakes his head a little frantically. She looks back up at Bruce. "Yes, but he does not want you to have it."
"Okay. That's alright." He looks at the boy. "Is there something we can call you? It doesn't have to be your real name, if you aren't comfortable with that. It can be anything you want."
Cassandra looks to her brother again and after a pause, he shrugs a shoulder at her.
Cassandra thinks for a moment, then she smirks, a teasing glint in her eye. "My brother likes birds," she says. "You can—no…may? You may call him Bird."
The boy shoots Cassandra a glare and she grins at him.
"Bird," Bruce tests. "Does that work for you?"
The boy huffs, but doesn't protest. He shrugs again. He edges a little more behind Cassandra and then slips his hand into hers. She takes it automatically. He looks at her imploringly and tugs at her hand.
Cassandra turns to Bruce. "We are tired," she announces. "Where do we sleep?"
Bruce shows them to a guest room, pulling a pile of bedding out of the linen closet on the way up. To his surprise, Cassandra takes a corner of the sheet as Bruce is spreading it onto the bed and helps him pull it into place. They work together in silence, situating the rest of the bedding, and when they're finished, Cassandra plops onto the bed with a little sigh. Bird stands watchful in the corner and Cassandra looks over and pats the bed beside her. "Sleep with me," she says to him. His eyes widen a little and he shakes his head. He lowers himself to the floor and sits on the carpet. He runs his fingers through the thick fibers and looks back up at Cassandra with another shake of his head.
"I'm sorry," Bruce says. "I wasn't thinking. We can bring in another bed, if you like. Or I can show you to your own room, Bird."
"Sleep up here, Bird," Cassandra demands, ignoring Bruce. "No floor anymore."
Bird shakes his head again, glancing nervously at Bruce out of the corner of his eye.
"Bruce," Cassandra says, "please tell Bird that he is allowed on the bed."
Allowed? "Of course," Bruce says, a little lost. "You are welcome to any bed in the house. Any piece of furniture, in fact. My home is open to the both of you."
"See?" Cassandra pats the bed again, a little more forcefully. "Bed." When Bird doesn't move, Cassandra sighs and slides off of the bed, going to Bird and yanking him up from the floor by an arm. She shoves at him and he flails, flopping onto the bed with an oof, the only actual sound Bruce has heard him make thus far. "Bed," she says again. Bird sits up and glares at her, but there's no heat to it. He's paler than usual and looks supremely uncomfortable.
Cassandra climbs up back onto the bed next to him. "See? Soft."
Cassandra seems to notice Bruce's confusion. "Bird is not allowed on the bed," Cassandra tells him in that brutally open and honest way Bruce is beginning to expect from her. "Our father did not let him."
"Oh," Bruce says, a little flabbergasted. What on earth does he say to that? Whoever these children's father is or was, Bruce would very much like a few words with him. He looks seriously at Bird. "Bird, you are allowed every privilege that everyone else in this house enjoys. Consider this your home just as much as it is mine."
Bird just turns away from him, burying his face in Cassandra's shoulder.
"We will sleep now," Cassandra tells Bruce. "Thank you for the bed."