metalogs | ( open ) and what's the worst you take

For a long moment, Dick doesn't say anything. There's not much reaction beyond a couple of long blinks as his brain tries to catch up with what he's seeing.

He's seen the pictures of Bruce at this age before. Everybody in Gotham has. Hell, he knew a few of the gossip rags had placed his own picture at that age alongside Bruce's, wondering if there was some more salacious reason for Bruce to be taking in a circus brat.

But it still takes a second for him to put all of that together and let out a low whistle. "I should have asked Kyle if he could guess your sizes," he finally says, looking Bruce over again. "May I come in?"

"Well I didn't tell him you could come over just to stand outside." A little bit of sass, he gestures for Dick to come in and makes his way further into the dorm, expecting Dick to shut the door behind him. It's still heavily under construction, though it's not much of a mess now what with Kyle having come and helped clean up the debris with his lantern maids.

Making his way over to one of the walls where a paint can and brush are set over pieces of newspaper, he picks up the wet brush and begins painting the wall he'd been working on. He needs... something to do when he's like this, his laptop already running searches for any possibilities that could maybe be found, and the place isn't going to paint itself, so.

"Before you ask, I don't know how this happened. I woke up like this. I don't remember dreaming about anything and I also made sure this wasn't a dream."

"I'm blaming the Shining God and whatever Chaos Gate did." Dick follows him in, shutting the door behind them and taking a look around. He sets down the helmet on a stable surface, unzipping his bike jacket. He doesn't take it off yet, though. "There's been a lot of weird stuff happening since then."

He doesn't offer help yet. Bruce is the kind who needs things to do but doesn't always like help. "But the problem with not knowing how this started also means you don't know how long it will last."

"I know," it's said with a sigh — with a look of concern there on young Bruce's face as he keeps painting the wall. "I could just be like this now." Which... he hopes not, since he's got a lot of things he remembers from back in Gotham — from here, crammed in with his feeling like he's ten years old again. It's... strange, to say the least.

A slight glance over to Dick, he looks back to the wall as he keeps working. "I told Kyle I didn't want to tell any of you— that you're already all freaked out with me being here as it is," an honest thought of his. "But he seemed to think it was better to. So that's why you're here."

Dick snorts softly at that. "I'm freaked out by myself at 14 being here," he replies honestly. "I'm getting over it. Same with you, honestly. It's still unusual, you being here younger than I ever knew my Bruce. But I'm not going to be much use around here if I freak out over everything. So existential crises can wait until AFTER the current actual crisis."

Speaking of existential crises... the strokes of his brush to the wall begin to slow until, finally, they simply stop. Bruce stares to the small little bubbles beginning to appear from his having smushed the end of the brush there against the wall and he lets his gaze drop for a moment.

"I have a theory... maybe." His words are soft and he doesn't look over to Dick. "I saw my parents here," he starts and that sentence already probably tells Dick this isn't going to have a happy ending. "They were dead. They tried to kill me... so Jason stepped in and killed them." And that had been a trauma he didn't need added to the ones he's already carrying.

Staring to the wall, he pulls the brush down, slowly, running it through the bubbles. "I froze. I couldn't fight them. I felt... like this." Being this age again, he means. "Maybe that's why this happened."

Edited 2023-07-30 20:54 (UTC)

There's a long pause while Dick takes that in, watching Bruce and his movements, his reactions. They're to be expected, but also...so much more open than usual.

"Tim's parents were brought by that energy, too. He hasn't changed age, but that doesn't mean much. They probably would have reacted the way they did if he was back home, and they learned about...everything."

He steps forward, placing a comforting hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I can't say that it doesn't contribute. That maybe some part of you wanted to go back to when life made more sense. Of course, whatever's causing this didn't affect your mind as well." So now he's a pre-teen with the mind and memories of a thirty-year-old. "So I'd say the theory holds up, at least somewhat."

The hand to his shoulder has him pause in pulling the brush down the wall again and he looks over to Dick instead. Quiet. Until he just... goes and says it.

"I wanted to see them again... I always do. But not like that." Not with rotting flesh and boney fingers and thrashing at him with the intent to kill him.

Which is why Dick reaches out, taking the brush from Bruce's hand and putting it down. Then he kneels, pulling Bruce around to look him in the eyes. No hug, not yet. Even though he's sure Bruce could use one.

God knew he'd needed it when the Black Lanterns had attacked.

"I know. It's...indescribable, when something like that magic shows you a mockery of the people you loved. The people who loved you, who made you who you are." His voice is tight, meaning he has to clear his throat. "But it wasn't them. I know you know that, but it wasn't. Wherever Thomas and Martha Wayne are, I know that they're proud of you. That they always have been."

Bruce stands there in front of Dick, paint on the tips of his fingers that's already starting to dry, arms hanging at his sides. A mockery is definitely what they had been, on top of traumatizing. He doesn't want those images to replace the ones he holds of his parents within his mind — doesn't want to lose the faces of the ones he'd draw crayon pictures for. But all he can see are the ones who'd tried to kill him — the monsters who wore their faces as a means to both distract and hurt him.

Dick goes and says that about them — how they're proud of him and Bruce lets his gaze drop. He doesn't know if they would be... truthfully. What I'm doing is my family's legacy, he'd said to Alfred once. Making a change for Gotham as Batman, but. He doesn't know if it's enough. If he can be the sort of man his father was. But he can't stop. He just... can't.

So he just stands there. Quiet. Before he turns away from Dick and brings his arm up to rub his face into the crook of it. Just for a moment.

"I want to say it gets easier, but I won't lie to you. Stuff like that...it stays with you. But the older memories are stronger. You've had them longer. These will lose some of the sting of immediacy." The voice of experience there. Though the whole world shifting had helped in his case.

He frowns for a moment, looking down before pushing himself back to his feet. "Come on. Let's get the paint put away. You need something you can actually wear and you really don't need to be alone right now."

He's fine being alone... or at least he tells himself that. Not having Alfred here has been... hard, if he's honest, but he doesn't really let himself think about that.

But his place is still in the process of being fixed up and while there's a few beds in some of the rooms, he still doesn't really have the place fully stocked in the sense of really being able to live here. Plus, better fitted clothes would be nice and... maybe something to eat that isn't whatever he has stashed away here. Which, given the lack of much for a kitchen right now, isn't really much. Bruce forgets to eat sometimes, what else is new.

Turning some to look to Dick, he sighs.

"What, are you going to adopt me?" He knows the irony in that statement.

Dick's grin is lopsided at that, but it's true. "Sure, why not? Let's just make this full circle." He shakes his head a bit. "Honestly, though. You're, what? About ten? If this lasts more than a day or so, somebody's likely to notice and then things will get awkward. My apartment isn't big, but there's room for another for now."

Again, there's a sigh and he crosses his arms.

"You sleep on the couch." He's seen it— well. The makeshift bed that's been made out of the couch, but. His point still stands.

"Just for that, you can have the airbed." Does Dick have an airbed? Not yet. But they have to go shopping for clothes for Bruce, so he can get one then. "I know it's not really up to Wayne standards, but it's only for a few days. If things look like they're going to end up more permanent? Tim and I can move up here to the dorm for a while and help you get it set up properly."

"You think I can't take care of myself?" His arms are still crossed, head tilted some and brow raised. He may remember his time here and back in Gotham where he currently is in time, but he's also still ten years old.

Dick holds out his hands, placatingly. "Oh no. I'm not getting into that. Because I know very well you can take care of yourself." Even if he is only ten right now. "But you've said before. This place doesn't know Bruce Wayne. When you're thirty, they'll leave you alone. When you're ten, people are going to wonder where your guardian is at. And WILL get the Alliance involved."

Alright, well. Dick does have a point there, which is why Bruce gives a slight huff before he drops his arms down to his sides. "So you're going to be my guardian then. Until this all blows over?"

"That's what I'm offering." If Bruce doesn't want it, they'll...figure something out. But, hopefully, they won't have to. "You don't HAVE to take it, of course, but you're probably going to need somebody to be your adult until this clears up."

He knows he's right, he just... wishes he wasn't.

Again, there's a huff and after it, he crouches down, lidding the paint can and setting the brush aside on the newspapers. He doesn't want it to dry out or anything after all since it seems like he's going to be going to Dick's place for however long this lasts.

Coming up to Dick then, he stands there in front of him and just stares at him for a long moment. "Sorry. This sucks for you."

~~Somewhere, the opening strains of Surface Pressure start playing.~~

He crouches down again, mostly because it's easier to look Bruce in the eye. "Bruce. I know that you don't know about it yet, because it hasn't happened for you. But at the moment when my life literally fell apart at my feet, my Bruce was there and reached out a hand to make it better. It's not the same, really, but it's kinda nice to be able to offer even a little bit of that back to you."

The crouching down makes sense — getting down on their level and all. It's funny to think he can pick up on these things while simultaneously not at the same time. Being this age again yet knowing what he does... it's a little difficult for him, just as it is for Dick, he's sure.

Which... Dick goes and says that to him— something he hasn't yet experienced or been through, and it has him thinking of someone else who did that to him when his life fell apart. When he lost everything important to him.

"Like Alfred did." The words are soft and there's a sadness there in his eyes that he can't seem to hide, letting his gaze drop. "I don't make things better. I make them worse. For everyone around me. Even for all of you." Which is why he's been keeping his distance since coming here. Busying himself. Doing whatever he can to just not let himself do this again.

Not be hurt again because of how powerless he ends up being.

"Like Alfred did." He can't always keep his own sadness out of his voice or eyes when the name comes up, but he manages right now. Because Bruce needs that. "Not just for you, but for all of us as well.

"But you will make things better, Bruce. Even Jason admits, usually, that there wasn't anything our Bruce could have done to stop him ending up where he did, couldn't have stopped what happened." No, the problem there was the Joker's continued existence. Something that Dick...sometimes even agreed with Jason on, honestly. "I know it doesn't look like it from where you're at. But you're going to do so much good for Gotham."

He reaches out, taking Bruce's shoulders. Wonders if Bruce had ever wondered if shoulders so small could handle the burdens that would be heaped upon them. If he'd wondered the same things Dick wonders now. "You being here. It's awkward, but it's not making anything worse for any of us." He raises a hand and waves it before Bruce can protest. "Jason might say that, but Jason is an asshole. That's not our Bruce's fault." Entirely. "That's the way he is. We kinda like him like that, even when it makes us want to punch him."

It's a good thing that Dick clarifies the point about Jason there because Bruce was a half a second away from rolling his eyes and puffing out a yeah right. But no, Jason's not as bad he maybe makes himself out to be. Bruce has experienced that firsthand here. The way he's patched him up, come to his aid, told him things that maybe had been difficult for him to. He's a bit of a punk, he's not going to try and say he isn't, but. There's more to him than that... just as there's more to Batman than Batman.

But maybe that's good to hear — that he's not making things worse for them by being here. It's not as if he had a say in it after all and this past month that he's been here has been... hard. Really hard for him. Especially with a Joker being here and everything that's going on back in his Gotham... things that still make him worry with the not knowing and being completely powerless to do anything while being here.

"I'm scared to go back," and the way he says that is so soft and so young, like the ten year old he is right now. "Alfred's badly hurt and in the hospital because of me and if I go back and lose him... then I don't have anyone."

This time, Dick doesn't fight the urge to pull Bruce in for a hug. He's an adult, sure, but he's ten years old and having all those memories doesn't make being this young easy. And especially not when he's dealing with those thoughts.

"Alfred is tougher than all of us combined," he says fiercely. And he believes it. Alfred had signalled Bruce that he was safe, knowing that any member of the family coming in would mean his death. And he did it because it had to be done. "And if he went out protecting you, he'd consider it his duty well done, but he won't. Not for a long time. Because he knows you're going to need him for years to come and that's why he's going to fight to make sure he's there. And he always will."

And if Dick is using that hug to hide teary eyes? Well, nobody could blame him.

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