just remember 'til you're home again

[obscuronoctis]

"I see he's called in backup," Bruce had said, staring with bleary eyes up at Lucius Fox and the box of donuts he'd woken him up with - the only man in Gotham who could break into this penthouse without triggering the alarms. (Because he'd made them

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[obscuronoctis]

Bruce feels a little bit like he's being treated as if he were some kind of wild creature, approached with nimble caution and narration to a camera crew lurking in the distance. It's almost funny, and he the stirrings of a bemused expression are beginning to show when Richard asks, and he ends up shooting him an incredulous look instead.

"Things are awesome," he deadpans. His lip his split but treated, and he has a bit of white tape over the ugly, yellow-tinged purple bruise that's spread from his cheekbone to eyesocket on the left side of his face - but that's all run of the mill, expected, from an employee.

Or whatever he is.

It's the fact that he's here, the fact that he mentioned death. Bruce knows it, and he's still torn - anger that he let it slip and a desire to pick this man apart and see exactly how he comes together, why he seems to understand, why he has the capacity for that understanding. Instead he nods away, where somewhere far-off, the Nexus question sign hangs inexplicably in the air over the sea of people and chairs and lazy mayhem. "You ever use that thing?"

[knightflown]

"Twice," he answers, watching Bruce and swinging his leg idly. "It's not too painful. I even got someone going through the exact same thing I am, second time around."

Dick imagines that if this situation, the family thing stymies Bruce, an explanation of what he's trying to do right now with rescuing his younger self will just make him stare. Though he'd probably adapt quickly, but there's no need to tax Bruce with that kind of thing, as if, like a wild animal, he should only take so much stress.

[obscuronoctis]

He makes a noise of acknowledgment at that, no actual words, and wonders privately if he's seen him - hell, talked to him, one of those costumed super heroes. (The term strikes him as uncomfortable. He's always just thought of Batman as the demon under his skin.)

"You're..." he lets it hang, uncharacteristically stumped for anything, something to say. After a moment he leans forward, one elbow on his knee, the unbruised side of his face resting on his hand. Hmph.

[knightflown]

Dick debates where to go with that, squeezing the cement of the ledge for reassurance. "What I was trained to be," he decides on, quiet as the rest of their exchange has been. "So is Tim."

After a moment he shifts slightly, anxiously. "And... family." He searches Bruce's expression. "Not that I-- I'm not trying to. Force my way into your life or anything, just-- that's how it is. For me, and Tim, and the others."

[obscuronoctis]

That jars him. How old was that boy? Fifteen? Sixteen? Something twists in his stomach at the thought of doing this to a child (and he doesn't even know the half of it).

Nothing shows on his face, but Dick can probably tell by the way his gaze averts that he's made him genuinely uncomfortable. It's a long while before he speaks, so long that it may seem like he won't ever.

"But you can't keep away, is that it?" His voice is gentle, almost regretful, and he's still looking out at the clouds, thinking about the man who took these boys and made them like this. Bruce doesn't see this and think of it as an omen; he sure that these things, even familiar things, will happen differently. He doesn't believe in fate - he makes his own purpose. But it's still strange.

[knightflown]

Waiting is painful, but Dick has learned how to do it with complete stillness, and is rewarded with understanding.

"You're alone," he says, almost wide-eyed. "I know we can't be family. But maybe I could be a friend. Or something like it."

The situation is, he knows, weird, perhaps too much so to permit straightforward friendship. Still, if there's any capacity in which he can help ease this Bruce's life, he's interested.

"And it's not just-- I mean, I don't look at you and only see him, anymore. I see--" Small smile. "-- Tom."

[obscuronoctis]

"You know I'm not--" it's apparent, perhaps, that he's not at the hard-souled maturity point of the Batman Richard knows; he speaks a little too quickly, with a little bit too much emotion. "--like, a stray puppy, you can't collect people."

And yet they're here, and Bruce hasn't moved yet. He could have left, or told him to go to hell, but he's here. Something occurs to him, belatedly: "Why do you have time to do this? Are you okay?"

[knightflown]

"I think I'm the stray puppy in this equation." He can acknowledge the sadness of that fact like a man. It's not an especially surprising one; he's faced numerous variations of that allegation before.

The questions startle him and he lets it show.

"I never have enough time, but I'm okay. It's just hard to walk away from people I want to help, particularly when they're people I 'know'."

[obscuronoctis]

Another man might have argued - Bruce is the one that's supposedly alone, Richard has his so-called family; but fine, if he wants to be the puppy, he can be. Still, Bruce levels a look at him that's heavy and searching, like he's trying to discern something specific.

"What are you going through?" he asks, his tone a soft contrast to his eyes. "You said you found someone else, dealing with the same?"

[knightflown]

His stillness is a type of answer on its own. It's one thing to dog Bruce's heels, but similar attention gives him pause. It's also times like these that those small differences, Bruce's eye color, make themselves felt most keenly. He feels weight instead of piercing-- not any less effective.

"It's insane," he acknowledges with a small, unamused smile. "Trying to save a younger version of myself from..." He falls silent a moment. "... someone who will remake him. Someone who, I guess, wants to be what you were to me. A teacher." More than that, he doesn't say.

[obscuronoctis]

Something clicks and he inclines his head, eyebrows raising. "Black with the blue on your chest?" ... Busted, perhaps. Now, will Bruce cop to being that one anonymous asshole, is the question. (Or is it obvious?)

[knightflown]

Oh. "Yeah." He'd almost forgotten that conversation, which, confusingly, he's assuming is a different one entirely. "I go by Nightwing."

[obscuronoctis]

Being mistaken for himself (sort of) isn't that bad, but somewhat awkward - fortunately Bruce hasn't noticed. "Nightwing," he says, trying not to sound incredulous. He mostly succeeds; it's not like he can talk, but he's still not used to the (in his opinion) utterly insane idea of recruiting backup. "Have you had any luck, or.. did the reality split?"

That is almost-serious, because he's befuddled a little about the entire concept. It's easier to talk about than how alone he is, anyway. Maybe he'll consider offering an apology for being so frustrating.

[knightflown]

While it's not like he hasn't noticed the topic shift, he's willing to give Bruce room on this for now. The trace of incredulity also doesn't go unnoticed, but it merely amuses him. How to broach the subject of 'Robin', 'Batgirl', and 'Oracle'? Better, probably, to not, unless necessary.

He laughs at the mention of reality splitting. "You know, I'm not sure I would know if it had. I have no idea who that guy was... but things are-- not so good." Dick looks down. "The would-be teacher knows about us. I'm concerned he's punishing my younger self for his involvement. If I could just fight and defeat him, things would be over. But it's never that simple." His eyes flicker up. Three guesses where he learned that.

[obscuronoctis]

A thousand questions. Why did you go, to begin with? What did I - he - do to drive you to someone else? Where is this young man's teacher, then? And on, and on, but he doesn't say anything, because it's like a dream, and even if he tried he thinks it would be like breathing in water.

"...No, it isn't." Of course, of course. He doesn't flinch away from that look, even though he feels like he might, at first. "You can't beat the hell out of an ideal, you have to prove that the faith in it is unfounded. Otherwise you're just encouraging people to dig their heels in even more." A beat. "Especially teenagers."

[knightflown]

"He's not a willing student. Or-- maybe he's becoming that way, I don't have any recent studies on Stockholm Syndrome lying around." He grips the ledge hard for a moment. "But there are hostages involved, it's a-- it's a mess." The apology in his voice, the way he almost isn't making eye contact, isn't for this Bruce, but he can't strain it out.

"The preparations to neutralize the hostage situation can't move any faster..." He lapses into moody silence.