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

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.

He's pulled into that hug and he just stands there. Quiet. The thought of losing Alfred back in Gotham because he hadn't been the one to receive that envelope from the Riddler... he doesn't know what he's going to do if that happens. If Alfred doesn't pull through. There's no next of kin. There's just him... just him and Alfred, like it's been for a number of years now.

But Dick's words are a sort of comfort he didn't know he needed to hear and it's why, fighting his own pain there in his eyes, he gently lifts his arms up and presses small hands to Dick's shoulders, holding tight after a few seconds. A tilt of his head, he leans into Dick and he... doesn't realize how much he needs this right now. Just a moment to feel safe — to stop. To pretend, even for a few seconds, that everything is going to be ok.

It's one reason why Bruce needs more people. Why he needs Gordon and the others that will come into his life. Because if it had just been the two of them when Alfred died, Bruce would have broken. It's not that he didn't, really, but there were others to help take up the load when it got to be too much. Who are also reminders of all the things that Alfred helped to get right.

Bruce hugs back and Dick lets himself breathe a sigh of relief. One that lets him get his own emotions back under control. "It'll be okay. It's Alfred. He always comes through."

He really hopes Dick is right.

After a moment — once he's sure he's collected himself, he pulls back from the embrace and lets his arms fall at his sides again. It's been awhile for that — a hug. Still, there's no point in standing around and getting sad about the what ifs — he tortures himself enough as it is when he's an adult. Right now, he needs to try and figure this out and...

...there goes his stomach. Rumbling away.

Dick doesn't hold on to the hug longer than Bruce is okay with. Maybe they both need it, but he knows that Bruce will only take it for so long.

He's able to blink his eyes a few times, keep them from looking too glassy when Bruce pulls away. Dick crouches there, trying to think of something to say when...Bruce's stomach comes to the rescue.

Breathing out an almost relieved chuckle, Dick pushes himself back to his feet. "I guess that means we add a trip to the closest diner before we head back to Central? Clothes first, though." Because Bruce can't go into a restaurant with clothes that much bigger on him. "Come on. I've got an extra helmet for when I drive with Tim. It'll work for long enough to get you clothed, fed and then home."

Food would be... nice, yeah.

"I can borrow something from Tim or Dick," he says then, in regards to the whole having to get new clothing thing. "The smaller Dick, I mean." Though he figured Dick understood that since, obviously, he's very much not the same size as him right now.

Bruce borrowing Dick's clothes as his normal size would work better with this one than it would have back home. "Not going to help with eating right now. And you might need jeans, at least, because I think both of them are longer in the leg than you are right now." They hadn't hit their growth spurts yet, but still. "Let me just get a couple of things for you, all right?"

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