You don't know how you got here; you just know you want out.

[chiroptophobic]

WHO: Batman, Bruce Wayne and an all star cast (will be OTA threads, but if you want something in particular pm me)
WHERE: Heropa would be my guess
WHEN: All month
WHAT: There's a lot to adjust to, introspection to be done, sparring, explanations and a man who has never thought about being a father suddenly having way too much responsibility. It's going to be a rollercoaster.
WARNINGS: V...violence? That would be my guess. And brooding.

Threads to follow, including open to all!

Comments

Breakfast (2 days after import) - for Robin (G)

[chiroptophobic]

[ For Bruce, breakfast was far from the first meal of the day. In fact it was more often the last, taken at six or seven in the morning as night led into day, and bolted down before he fell into bed for three or four hours and woke to do the daylight thing. Sometimes his pretending to sleep at Wayne Enteprises staff meetings was actual sleeping, but it was never the deep healing sleep that broke his days routinely into the realms of Batman and Bruce Wayne.

For now, while the cowl was still behind him, Bruce still fell back on his old ways. He wandered the streets at night more like a drifter, hoodie pulled up over his head, smudges of dirt on his cheek, avoiding eye contact with others, learned what he could about the place where he lived, its secret places, the best spots for a fight, those places where a street could be best overlooked, escape routes and entry points. Then he came home, had breakfast and slept.

For anyone else in the house it would seem like he slept through the night and simply woke up early to take a walk, but it couldn't be maintained forever. Sooner or later he'd need a better excuse; sooner or later someone would knock on his door and find the room empty.

But for now, he had breakfast - the final meal of the day - and if he was very lucky he might even have company; the company of a bird, in fact. Or was it adopted son? He didn't know how to feel about that. He didn't know how to feel about a lot of things.

In fact, certain parts of this whole situation were more terrifying than any of the monsters inside of him that Ra's and Crane had forced him to face. Sharing scrambled eggs and OJ with Robin was likely to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done. ]

[performance]

[ Dick hadn't slept much. That wasn't unusual for him, but usually it had more to do with his nocturnal hobbies than it did with fear. He had too many questions and too few answers, and the only way to put his mind at ease was to face the thing that was uneasing it in the first place.

Bruce had taken him in before, it was true — but he'd been nine then, a frightened, lonely little boy with nowhere else to go. Worlds away from a fourteen year old with years of superheroics under his belt. And Bruce had chosen him, then.

This? This felt like being dropped on someone's doorstep.

Which was exactly where he found himself that morning, dressed in a red button-down shirt, his hair combed perfectly into place. He wondered for entirely too long whether he should knock or ring the doorbell before he realized that Bruce, being Bruce, probably already knew he was here, in which case it really didn't matter at all.

So, okay, he knocked. ]

[chiroptophobic]

[ He had his precautions in place. With his exposure to the network and no way to know which of his enemies had been brought here - and if he even knew all of them - Bruce had made protecting his domicile, his housemates and most importantly Alfred, his top priority.

There was a pressure sensor under the doormat, an echo-location device built from the borrowed tech in his cowl providing a workable image of the visitor to him even before Robin knocked.

He knew, but it didn't make him ready, although he was standing on the other side of the door already by the time Robin raised his hand. He opened it only a moment later, stepping aside to give him room to enter. ]

Alfred's busy with something--I didn't want to trouble him. [ And Bruce hadn't thought to ask what had his butler so busy. He'd find out in due time, he knew. ] Come on in. You like eggs?

[ He was going to try, was going to give it everything he could. ]

[performance]

[ Unsurprising, but still a little bit intimidating. But that was Bruce, through and through — it would have been weirder if it had been any other way. Dick smiled up at him, stepping inside. ]

I like eggs just fine.

[ Wait. If Alfred was busy, then that meant... ]

... You mean, you cooked?

[chiroptophobic]

[ Door closed behind him, Bruce took the last fraction of a second he had left to prepare himself for what came next. This was all new to him, and he was well aware of the fact that he could make a mess of it, do something or say something that was so jarringly unlike him that Dick wouldn't be able to resolve the differences enough to trust him.

And he needed him to; he was placing far too much trust in the young man himself not to be able to expect some measure of it in return.

Also hey Dick at least it's not rats. He doesn't miss the incredulity though, and it's true: Bruce isn't great at cooking. But scrambled egg also isn't really cooking. Break eggs into pan, pick out most of the eggshell, scramble... Really, don't ask him how he survived a year of Princeton and seven years an outcast, there are things you just don't want to know. ]

I thought I'd wait, make it fresh.

[ Still, this was Dick's chance to make a break for it. There was still time. ]

[performance]

[ There's something about the whole situation that's absolutely ridiculous — two people who spend their nights in the shadows, going toe to toe with the worst of the worst, and they're anxious about something as simple as breakfast.

So Dick can't help but laugh. It's light and good-natured and he doesn't mean for it to be teasing, but it is, just a little bit. ]

I've gotta see this.

[chiroptophobic]

[ And Bruce smiles. Behind these doors, with someone who knows him, the smile is as much in his mouth as his eyes, nothing remotely plastic or masklike about it. He can be himself--in so much as he can do that while trying to still be another version of himself besides.

He led the way through to the kitchen. The invitation to sit wasn't spoken. In fact he didn't insist. If Dick was anything like he was, he'd prefer to hover, and while that added another element of pressure to proceedings...well, he'd survive.

And later Alfred could complain about him mistreating his pots and pans. The skillet goes on the heat, and Bruce fetches the eggs from the refrigerator. ]

I'm going to take a wild guess that the Alfred you know doesn't take any of his vacation time either.

[performance]

[ Dick does prefer to hover, but that's partly because he'd feel bad if he didn't at least pretend he was helping, even if his version of helping isn't particularly helpful. Also: he's a teenage boy, and cooking may as well be an arcane art form. So it's kind of fascinating. ]

Hah! Never. Pretty sure he thinks we'd be lost without him.

[ Which they would. That's one thing that's probably consistent across all universes. ]

You want me to serve up the orange juice? I think I can do that without starting any fires.

[ Maybe if he jokes enough, it'll diffuse some of the tension, he thinks, shifting his weight between his feet. He's too keyed up to just stand still. ]

[chiroptophobic]

Wouldn't we?

[ Speaking what Dick doesn't say out loud, because it's true, and also because this version of Alfred? Bruce isn't sure he can't expect him to be listening in on some handmade device, more than ready to make them regret thinking they could get along without him. ]

I'd be more impressed if you did manage to start a fire with nothing but juice. Prodigy, right? Shouldn't you be able to do a little thing like that?

[ There was no doubt that his approach was different. Bruce joked and smiled with ease, kept his battleworn heartsickness aside and reflected much of the good natured charm that was sent his way. Meanwhile he broke the eggs into the pan, six of them altogether, and only one of them gave way in such a way that he had to scrape out a shred of eggshell. Then leaving them to color he stepped across to cut slices of bread for toast. ]

text; action; (2 days after import) Robin (K)

[chiroptophobic]

28.223340, -80.868301, 20,22.0000

[ The forest banking Lake Winder was dense. At sunset, 8.22, the dark canopy was still a dark purple gray, though the canopy made the forest floor near black. Bruce wasn't in his suit - he still hadn't convinced himself to wear it - but he dressed head to toe in black irregardless, and had a handful of gadgets on his person besides.

In the center of the clearing he'd selected, he placed down the LED candle, a speck of light in the field of black, then swung himself off the darker ground. Instead Bruce made use of the shifting shapes of the stirring canopy to conceal himself above, even though without the shape of his cloak his edges were somewhat sharper.

And then he waited, balanced in place. Patience and stealth. ]

[slingshots]

[ She'd spent a while debating with herself on whether or not she should go in costume. She hasn't really used it much since she's been here — too busy getting a look at the way things work from the civilian perspective. After all, if they've been brought here to be heroes, there's something that doesn't quite sit right with her rushing to go and do exactly that. Not until she has more facts, anyway.

But the text... that's different. A text like that comes from someone who has more use for Robin than for Carrie. So she'd brought everything but the colors, like a stealthier version of the usual bright, waving distraction that she is, with all the gear she'd brought along (and picked up here) tucked into its place. The small, motorized bike gets stashed near the road and she goes in on foot the rest of the way.

The sight of that LED candle gives her a bewildered pause when it comes into sight, and she stops just outside the ring of the clearing. She studies it for a few seconds, then raises a hand to shade its light and she focuses her eyes back into the darkness, trying to regain the night vision she'd just lost. He's not obviously apparent in it light, which means he doesn't plan on being obviously apparent at all. After a few moments of a thoughtful frown, she leaps suddenly upward. It's a higher jump than she should be able to make (she's been practicing), and she's quick to snag ahold of a branch and pull herself up into the darkness.

When in doubt, find higher ground. ]

[chiroptophobic]

[ And he watches. Nightvision is the first important thing to maintain. She shields her eyes, as Bruce has. Good. She looks up, looking for him, pays attention to her surroundings. Still he watches, unmoving. He's not visible, particularly in the wake of the tiny white candle's single-LED efforts. It's a dull light, but in this situation it's all but blinding, even just in the periphery; brighter than a meteor.

There. She leaps up into the trees, vanishes into the canopy as Bruce had. The whole sequence took seconds. Just seconds.

Trees had very little in common with the multi-layered wooden fortress in which Bruce had learned his skills of subterfuge and patient, and they were unlike Gotham too; in fact it was easier to move through them. There were more handholds, the leaps were surer, although he had to be careful not to land too heavily and rustle the leaves. Bruce moved like a hunter, coming closer by a circuitous route, carefully minding the branches he'd partially cut, 30 foot high suspended pitfalls. Fighting in daylight was one thing. This was the night; it was Bruce's domain, and he had to know she could fight the things that knew it as well as he did.

If Ra's were here, kept alive by an alternate universe or plucked out of history, knowing might save her life. Knowing she couldn't might save it too. The test, if unwelcome, was none the less imperative. ]

[slingshots]

[ She's done the nature thing before... kind of. The city is her usual habitat, born and raised in Gotham like she was, and aside from dabbling in the wilderness here and there, she's more at home with concrete and brick. So it takes her a while to get the hang of moving as quietly as she usually does in the face of creaking branches and rustling leaves. For a while her progress through the trees isn't difficult to track in a quiet forest, and she winces with every misstep.

Finally, annoyed at herself, she stops. Her eyes are only just beginning to reacclimate to the darkness, but as long as she keeps her face at least half-turned from the light, progress is steady. She takes a few breaths, consciously wills her weight to lighten a little bit, and moves on.

It works better this time. However, this time luck isn't on her side. Her third leap finds a steady and solid land on the branch, right up into the branch itself isn't steady or sturdy under her anymore. Its partially cut width snaps, and her only noise is a muffled sharp intake as she starts to fall.

She's an old hand at falling, though. She keeps totally silent as she twists in midair, hands stretched out — one to block her face, one to catch ahold. It takes two tries and 20 feet, but 10 feet above the ground she manages to snatch another branch and swing herself over and onto it. She perches there for a few seconds, catching her breath.

Definitely tampered. No branch that thick breaks that easy. ...Which tells her a little more about the game they're playing. ]

[chiroptophobic]

[ A little candle compared to the obscuring quality of streetlights is enough to ignore, but it provides sufficient light in the black shroud of the forest to pick out footholds. One thing that tells Bruce more about her is her choice not to extinguish it; he knows she can aim well enough with that slingshot of hers to take it out, after all.

He's still again when the bough breaks with a ripping crack, listening for the sound of impact, for some sound of surprise or the telltale noise of breath expelled as a body hits the ground. Only the tree branch crashes down, and then there's stillness again. Good, she's thinking. Bruce gives her the time to do so.

Bruce pulls himself up to a higher branch, one of the more fragile limbs. Dry, dead leaves in the canopy above rustle, and he taps the branch again deliberately, provides a rhythm that is not a natural part of the tousling breeze, gives her a target. Chase me. He has his next foothold ready, using a knot as a handhold to spring across to a branch further away. He knows how she responds to a challenge now. His next questions are how quick is she? And can she apply that fast thinking to pursuit? ]

[slingshots]

[ She freezes as soon as she hears that sound, too purposeful to be one of nature's many little noises. Alright, got it. She wears a little half of a smirk as she begins a swift ascent upwards and left, where she'd heard it coming from. She freezes again when she thinks she hears him moving, though. Of course, he wouldn't make sound then just sit on it, right? That'd be dumb. So she adjusts her course, angling toward her best guess at his landing point in the darkness.

And she moves more carefully now, too. A split second goes to testing each branch before she puts her full weight on it. She hasn't felt any more trapped boughs, but she doesn't relish trying her luck at a freefall again. ]

[chiroptophobic]

[ There. She adjusts her chase with hawklike speed, switching from one tactic to the next in midair, and as she lands on the bough in front of him, Bruce does too. His grapple line whips free, the sound no doubt familiar, catching on the next branch up, to which Bruce swings himself with grace, crouching low in the darkness above. A safe distance, but also the increased weight would have broken their foothold, and it wouldn't have been a pleasant fall for either of them. ]

Close, but you haven't caught me yet.

[ Again the sound of the grapple gun, but this time Bruce doesn't follow it; shrouded in the blackness of the canopy, he curls his hands around the line and leaps down from the opposite side, and with an enormous crash half a tree, leaves and branches and all, counters his weight, swinging toward Carrie in a violent rush while Bruce drops safely to the ground. ]

[slingshots]

[ Shoot, just missed him. Her head follows his progress up through the darkness (man, she really needs to get a pair of infrared inserts again) as she crouches, ready to follow him again. But then comes the second shot. She doesn't immediately realize what he's done, and loses her chance to leap away out of the avalanche of tree. Then she's surrounded by a battery of leaves and branches, caught up in the downward fall of it, and all at once her mental image of the situation sharpens.

Right. Okay. She's probably got about 4 seconds to get out from under this tree here before they both hit the ground — and that's probably a generous estimate. She scrambles through the branches as they fall, clawing and leaping her way up through to the upper side of the tree, her mental timer ticking alarmingly as she goes. It takes what feels like far too long to be able to get a clear vault away, but finally she's able to spring out into empty space. She's still stretching for a handhold in the darkness when the tree crashes to the ground below her, but an instant later she's snagged her hold.

She flips a quick loop around the branch and settles on it in a perch, breathing heavy. Then, a second later, she laughs. This? This is great.

Then she's off again, leaping to the neighboring tree and starting her quick way up it, back to higher ground. She's almost sure she heard Bruce headed down, and if she can get the drop on him, she'll catch him. ]

action; (a week or so after arrival) - Alfred

[chiroptophobic]

[ He was waiting for something...waiting for something to come to him, some answer. He'd struggled with them before, alone in his father's study - never his study - waiting for it to fly in through the open window. He was afraid of where his mission had led him, the lives it had cost so far, and truly he wasn't sure he was ready to take up the mantle again. What might it cost this time, and was he ready to pay the price?

And was he willing to pay the price if he didn't? Those children expected more from him than he was ready to provide. Maybe more than he was capable of providing. He felt like he owed them, because he wasn't their Bruce, and yet he felt the responsibility too. He'd been their mentor. In Dick's case he'd been...family. An adopted father. And if he'd done that then Dick was the inheritor of his fortune and his name--and perhaps more. Perhaps he'd inherit the costume too, the cape and cowl which he'd set on the dresser in his room.

The one that Bruce was staring at now as though the empty mask could somehow explain it to him. The one he'd been staring at for hours, now, waiting for that answer.

Still waiting. ]

[thebatbutler]

[It had been a few days since Alfred had really spoke with Bruce. They'd seen each other in passing, certainly. It was difficult not to when they lived under the same roof, but Alfred hadn't been around quite as much as he should have been, spending time instead working on a project with Richard.

The time had come, however, to bring Bruce into the fold. And so Alfred sought the man out, hoping that he might be in his room. If not, well... he could very well be anywhere.

He raises his hand to knock on the door in warning before letting himself in, closing the door behind him. Bruce is in and it's entirely possible that the man had known he was at the door even before his knock announced him. Certainly none of the other people they were living with would have reason to enter Bruce's room with so little warning.

Alfred's eyes immediately land on the cowl.]

I see you have company, Master Bruce. Shall I leave you to it or would you care to accompany me? There's a matter I wanted your opinion on. [He inclines his head towards the costume that was so much more than just that.] Perhaps he would like to come as well.

[chiroptophobic]

[ As Alfred enters, Bruce doesn't stir. The cowl still has most of his attention, its questions still unanswered, and Bruce with no idea whether or not he'll ever find them. It's only when Alfred asks him the first question that he seems to tune in at all, raising his chin a half inch without actually taking his eyes off those of the cowl. Or not the cowl, specifically, but the emptiness where eyes ought to be.

The second statement draws his attention much more thoroughly. Bruce lifts his head the rest of the way, looking up at Alfred instead. ]

I suppose this has something to do with your absences? [ Because it's not as simple as Alfred is busy settling in to his new job; Bruce had thoroughly checked out that possibility. Alfred had been working on something, and while he's been so meticulous that Bruce has had very few clues as to what, he's been certain that it was being concealed from him for good reason, placing trust in the fact that Alfred would approach him at some point, much as he was doing right now.

And if Alfred thought it was safe to take the costume with him, then perhaps his butler really was just that smart. Of course he couldn't keep the cowl here, but he'd been yet to find anywhere that seemed safer, especially considering the distinct lack of varied topography in the Florida basin. He looked straight back toward the cowl, considering. ]

You know that I trust you. [ He said, after a moment. He was talking to Alfred rather than to himself. ] But can you trust me? Am I ready for this, Alfred? [ Not exactly a 'yes', but a question he'd been dwelling on. ]

[thebatbutler]

[The first question is expected. Alfred didn't think that he could get away with doing anything behind Bruce's back. Not that he'd necessarily been hiding his activities. He simply hadn't been going out of his way to advertise them. Of course, his project isn't quite finished, but it's come along well enough now that he should involve the younger man.] You've spent some time adjusting to your new job here as well, I'm sure.

[That would be a yes. If Bruce is asking this here, Alfred assumes it's safe enough to talk in the house right now, but he would rather play it safe regardless.

The next questions, however, are somewhat unexpected and it strikes Alfred again how much younger this Bruce is. It wasn't a battle that he was unaccustomed to witnessing - the one between Bruce and Batman. But it had been sometime since Bruce had shown such doubt. Perhaps Richard's presence here could aid in resolving Bruce's conflict, but for now, Alfred would do whatever he could to help.]

There is no one I'd trust more, Master Bruce. [There's a moment of hesitation before Alfred steps closer, reaching to rest a hand on Bruce's shoulder. He's fairly certain he's gained enough control of his healing ability for it not to have any unwanted side effects this time.] I believe you are, but you're the only one who can truly answer that question, sir. You know I will stand by you, whatever you chose, but what is there to be gained in hiding?

[chiroptophobic]

[ He's confident they can avoid being too direct while still answering each other's questions. It's all about the words chosen, and even in his own home - before it burned to the ground - Bruce had been able to read the real meaning behind 'Will you be going out tonight?' and 'Shall I bring the car around?'

Silent, he keeps his eyes on his oldest friend as he waits for him to answer the question, as though what Alfred says will change his mind or affect him in any way. It won't, but that hadn't kept him from asking, either. In the end the choice is his, and sure enough, Alfred knows to remind him of that fact, while very gently suggesting to him a question he hadn't considered.

What was there to be gained in hiding? Could he stand back and let other people fight, watch from the sidelines as he had when Harvey Dent had stepped on that podium and announced to them that he was Batman? Sure, it had all been part of the plan, but it hadn't made it any easier to see other people risking their lives in his place. He'd suffered through too much of that recently to want to deliberately endure it again.

Bruce raises his hand, crosses it over his chest and settles it on Alfred's, then he allows himself a rare almost smile the genuine article. ]

Thank you.

[ And Bruce stands slowly off the edge of the bed, kicks his foot back against the wooden end, and with a thud something drops down from underneath, where it had been attached to the bottom slats of the bed. Bruce toes out a black rolling luggage bag, the kind a businessman might use, and lifts it clean up onto its wheels on the end of his shoe. Another tap opens it revealing the batsuit - his much too technologically advanced and reenforced for his age batsuit - inside. He fetched down the cowl, setting it in place, and closed the lid again. ]

You realize if I do this I'll have to start changing in phone booths.

[thebatbutler]

[Alfred smiles a little at that, arching an eyebrow.] I'm certain more suitable arrangements could be made. [Although it was certainly true that Batman couldn't be seen as somehow associated with this residence. There were risks no matter where they chose to set up their base of operations here, but they would have to weigh the consequences and pick their best option. Of course, that could be decided later. After Bruce had given input on Alfred's current project.

That Bruce seems to have decided to pick up the mantle of the Batman again is something of a relief, but there's still another question to be asked:] And what of Master Richard, sir? What role is he to play? If I may be so bold, I believe that you need him as much as he needs you.

[Alfred turns towards the door as he speaks. There's no sense in staying put for this conversation. They have somewhere to be.]

[chiroptophobic]

[ It's not a done thing; no doubt when he actually puts it back on there will be a long struggle, but for now he's set the question aside. He has more to think about than just himself, after all. It's just that in a world where Gotham doesn't exist, and after his recent losses, Bruce has to reevaluate a great deal of his motives.

Most of it pivots on the people who depend on him to set an example. An example that, before coming here, he'd been loathe to set. He'd had to deal with too many copycats already, seen them targeted for daring to try it on with Gotham's criminal underworld. But he'd also seen a young girl hit a deliberately broken tree branch and never hit the ground. These kids were different.

And if Alfred said they needed him, then they probably did. ]

We maintain our public relationship, of course. [ Bruce Wayne might not have anything to offer Dick, but Batman knew Robin, and it was excellent cover. But a greater concern pressed: ] I need to divorce myself from who I really am. One incarnation has to be the one you know, Alfred--and it needs to be flawless.

[ He can't say it in more complicated words than that; they're plain and frank, but hopefully even if someone were listening then without more insight than anyone should have they simply wouldn't understand. ]

[thebatbutler]

Of course, sir. If that's what you think would be best. [That would need to be discussed with Richard, although Alfred expected that the teenager would be integrated into their daily lives as well as Bruce's night job. Then again, Bruce had undoubtedly already spoken to Richard, although he was uncertain if the details would have all been ironed out so quickly.

As for Bruce's request, it wouldn't be an easy task, to be sure, but not impossible. Alfred knew that Bruce was up to it - would be able to do it flawlessly. A large portion of this particular course of action was dependent on Alfred. Good thing he had a mind for details. Even if there were some details that he was a tad loathe to bring up for discussion, along with a fair amount of conflict over teaching this Bruce to play the part of the man that Alfred had already lost. He would not be a replacement, or course, but the entire project would require a rather pragmatic approach. Bruce, he was certain, would expect nothing less.

He nods at the case holding the suit. There would be time for questions about the particulars of that later. When they could speak more freely with more certainty of not being overheard.] Shall we get started then?