singillatim | Look who just walked into the room/ The guilted and faded

( it is, in fact, a wolf.

massive and black, with dull grey-blue eyes that follow bruce through the windows of his cabin as he moves within it. not quite staring but more - idly watching. not in the way a wild wolf would, because why would one linger around some randos place of living as if that'll get them what they want.

so he's not being particularly subtle, but it's intentional. dramatic for the sake of being dramatic, as jason todd usually is. not that bruce would suspect him of being a wolf, unless others around town have spilled about what the aurora did to them.

it's when bruce goes outside to stand and watch him back that jason decides, fuck it, he can be a little extra. as a treat.

the wolf saunters out of the treeline. doesn't get too close, because there's only one of him, which is already terrible odds against bruce - but even worse when he's lacking opposable thumbs. instead, his front legs stretch out in front of him, back arching as he stretches out with a yawn that sounds more like a yip than anything else. )

[ Opposable thumbs are a fantastic advantage in a fight. They enable things like grappling and range weaponry.

Also though: that wolf is acting like a fucking dog in some ways. The signals it's throwing read more like diffusing tension. Whether that's actually more or less strange than it being there at all, Bruce still hasn't decided.

...Currently leaning on the 'pet' theory, because it at least half fits? Kind of? (No no one has told him anything about aurora gifts).

He takes a few steps away from the house, crouches down and keeps watching. Tiny mysteries but-]

Is this a food thing?

( ha. good. bruce takes a few more steps out and away from the cabin, and the wolf just - tips his head to the side, ears flicking. there's no sign of aggression in him, not yet. maybe he is just a kept pet, considering the sight of bruce coming towards him has his tail wagging fluidly; a sign he wants to play, in a way, even if he's keeping his distance and dropping down to lay in the snow a significant distance away from bruce.

he's baiting, which is play in it's own way. bruce isn't too far, but jason wants him to come further away from the cabin before he makes a move toward him. )

[ Bruce is one hundred percent aware that the smart course of action is to walk back in the house and ignore a wolf that could rabid as easily as it could be a pet - never mind the assorted (awful) options that are unique to being in this place.

He is also one hundred percent aware that he's not going to do that. He is alone at the moment, largely alone here, and doesn't have an actual kid, Alfred, or the Justice League here to make judgements about what he does.

At least he's armed?

Which means he's going to go right on ahead and move a little further away from the church.]

Fine. You win. Show me what you want.

( bruce starts closer, and there's a gleam of something mischievous behind those blue eyes. still, the wolf waits, tail wagging as bruce starts to get closer. he doesn't get up, doesn't make any moves like he's planning anything, because why would he give himself away that easily? it's only once bruce is far enough away from the church that jason is damn sure he can bolt passed him that he does move:

paws push against the snow as the wolf gets himself up suddenly, intentionally shoving its weight right up against bruce's leg as it zooms passed him and towards the church. not to break in, although he does consider it: bruce likely has several booby traps laid throughout the building, and jason's expertise in disarming his traps and alarms doesn't extend to when he's this - well. shaped. not quite small, but he's not going to be able to find most of them like this even if this shape has several other benefits that do make up for it. like running significantly faster than bruce is capable of with his two legs.

it's when he reaches close to the church's doors that he turns back around, crouches down, and gives a low-pitched bark, ears pointed and teeth bared. the tail wagging may give it away: he's posturing, but he's still playing. )

[ Does he have booby traps in there? Maybe, maybe not. He'll never tell.

...okay, fine, he is predictable and does. The whole place isn't trapped, though, so at least no one's going to wander in and lose a limb to a bear trap or some shit. He still doesn't know whether Tim has bear traps laid out in his place or not.

Meanwhile that wolf is trying to engage him in play. It is obvious. It is overt. It is so obvious and overt it is almost dog like.

He is still hesitant a second after that drive by, but it didn't involve teeth and could have, so fuck it all. He rushes back at the wolf. Does his own peel back and pull away. He doesn't turn his back but more backs up with speed, but there's a definite.. return of wolf-tag going on, on his end.]

( he's such a fucking dork. god, bruce, no one plays with wild animals - but jason supposes, a wild animal also wouldn't be playing back with him in most cases, so that's fair. bruce has taken in dogs significantly more feral than jason is acting. he'd call bruce out on his ability to play tag with whatever furry bullshit wandered out of the forest but he can't take two seconds to take damian to the arcade back home, but - well. technically he is playing with jason. even if he doesn't know it yet.

snark to get into later. for now? he's got a massive, dark wolf running through the snow, less for tag and more for - launching himself straight at bruce to knock him back onto his ass.

he's no longer in feral weird wolf who has wandered too close to town territory, which means he doubts bruce is going to stab him. )

[ There may be something to the lack of Gotham, Batman, Wayne Enterprises, and a Charity Foundation or two involved in just how much availability Bruce has to play.

Also, just maybe, a little, in the lack of all the complications of human interpersonal relationships, at all. Much less the complications layered on with all his kids, and the fact that Bruce is about 3 partial humans and 0 whole ones.

Either way he stands his ground when he's rushed, and falls back under the wolf but isn't quite so far gone into the land of impulsivity stupidity that he stays there. His intent at least is to catch and toss the wolf - playfully - and get back to his... well knees more than feet.

You wanted play? He is playing. And playing hard.]

( jason knows bruce can deadlift him without any issue, especially when he's, what, a good hundred pounds lighter? something like that. he hasn't weighed himself in a while, especially not while he's got four legs, but he feels a lot lighter. or maybe that's just the extra legs. who the fuck knows.

not jason, who doesn't care right now anyway. bruce goes down and tries to get back up, which jason takes as a good enough cue to open his mouth and bite down on bruce's arm.

not enough to rip the fabric, if bruce doesn't move. not enough to actually hurt him, unless bruce starts yanking his arm every which way to try and free himself. but jason does growl around the arm. even if his ears stay standing tall rather than flatening. )

[Bruce is certainly inclined toward both certain types of stupidity and specific sorts of panic --

--but none of those are in play here.

He does not turn his arm into a tug toy, or otherwise thrash around. He does stay still, stay calm and waits. Just to see. There's nothing too threatening here, yet.

...His arm's in a wolf's teeth, yeah, but it's not like he doesn't have another arm]

( who needs two arms. this arm is jason's now. bruce doesn't pull, but nor does he raise his free hand to try and get his arm free. good. because it'd be shit if jason ended up having to shift back out here in the snow. and it'd ruin his game.

he shakes his head - more to get bruce's attention, to make him remember they're playing here, right? one front paw rests against bruce's chest, not pushing weight against him, just sitting there.

is he going to surrender and admit he's lost here, or is he going to make jason yank him across the snow and drag him over to the church first. )

[is... is a wolf telling him to tone his shit down? Because that's pretty much what it feels like.

Which is ridiculous enough to make him laugh, but also relax and sink back to the ground. He's going to regret that and have issues getting up again but... okay. If it wanted him dead, he'd be dead.

And honestly? This was (had been) kind of fun for him. Maybe more so for the stupidity of it all.]

( if only bruce could respond like this with his actual kids, think of how much less maladjusted damian would have turned out. probably.

doesn't matter. bruce sinks back into the snow, and the wolf grips on hard to his arm. still careful not to break skin, but grabbing hard enough to pull. he walks around bruce's body, so he can stand behind his head while still holding onto his arm and - starts dragging him towards the church. )

[At least in these temperatures the snow is more frozen than not, making for an easier surface to pull two hundred and fifty odd pounds?

This is ridiculous.

He has a vivid mental image of how this looks and what it is.

It is absolutely not wolf behavior or normal in any respect, but there's evidence it's not dangerous at least in the immediate moment.]

You know, I could just walk.... [Since his destination is now clear. This is uncomfortable. And... kind of currently hilarious.]

( the snow is slippery enough to give jason plenty of leeway with his yanking, at least. bruce is big, but he's - making progress. ish. part of jason kind of figures - now's kind of a shit time to break into bruce's house and let him know of the thing that he's been hiding from everyone except bigby, but. bruce is trying. jason can try, too.

but he doesn't stop dragging bruce. mostly because of the whole, lack of opposable thumbs and potentially walking into a booby-trapped church thing.

instead, he shakes his head, thus yanking bruce's arm along with him, and keeps on pulling him up towards the church.

jason needs to snag clothes before he can shift back. )

[ well, all right then.

It doesn't take a genius to know something is going on here. That Bruce doesn't feel overly threatened by it is probably some kind of miracle, but he's not. He is a little invested in keeping his shoulder in its socket, so he starts getting cooperative.

Which does not make things less ridiculous, just means that he starts pushing with his feet when the wolf pulls. That thing tries to drag him bodily into the church, he'll protest. Or just climb to his feet and hunch, he guesses.

Meanwhile - pushing.]

( thanks for the hand, bruce. it's appreciated, even if jason doesn't have a way of telling him just yet. instead, he keeps dragging him across the snow until he reaches where the church's building begins and - lets go of his arm with a final shake of his head.

stretches his legs out behind him, as if the effort of dragging bruce that far had been tiring on his joints, then walks his way right up to the door so he can place a paw against the frame of it.

let him in, old man. )

[Bruce is entirely too smart not to be putting this together with some kind of, well given his life experiences and this place, magic and/or trap. There's nothing natural about the wolf's behavior for a wolf.

But the clarity of communication is beyond the capacity for intelligence.

Still not worried though. If it had wanted him dead, it's had more than ample opportunity. Nothing it's done has been really threatening. He doesn't even have broken skin after being dragged across packed ice.

Bruce pushes himself up to stand when he's released, and his knees make a slightly horrifying noise that he ignores in favor of pushing the door open to go inside. He leaves it open for the wolf to follow, if that's the intent.]

( if he could laugh, he would. unfortunately, jason lacks the proper... build to allow for that, so he settles for a bemused little snort. the door opens, and the wolf - takes off deep into the church. bruce wouldn't open a door to allow an animal inside if he thought anything inside would hurt them. maybe he'd do it to jason, but he doesn't know jason's jason currently.

so instead he gets a wolf, pressing his nose down to the ground to try and sniff out wherever the hell it is bruce has been sleeping at night. mostly so he can find his clothes. )

[The door opens into the chapel area of course, and Bruce has changed... nothing at all, that was not already changed by previous residents. He has managed to push things back and make more space in the center by pushing everything not nailed down as far to the outside walls as possible.

Nothing at all in there looks like living space, or personalized. There is a path toward another door, leading to the living quarters associated with the church. His scent's much more concentrated in that direction, of course.

There he spends more of his time. For one thing heating the smaller space is more efficient. For another, there's a kitchen and bedroom and some office space back there. His clothes are in the bedroom closet. Including the cape and gloves he arrived with.

Past the living area is the interior door to a cellar space. And that scent trail certainly leads directly to that, too.

Meanwhile? Bruce just watches the wolf with some bemusement and no alarm. He is not worried about an animal tripping any kind of trap. Mostly because nothing here is heavily booby trapped. ...alarmed in assorted ways, sure. But nothing dangerous -- and that's pretty goddamn intentional.

]

( now would be a great time to go snooping.

he could head to bruce's closet and give him shit. but by that time, bruce will have figured out who jason is and would, likely, try and keep him out of his shit. he follows the scent trail right through the living area, nudging open doors with his snout when he can or going up onto his hind legs to shove them open with his front paws when needed. notes down the location of the closet in case he opts to come back this way later, and then -

heads on past it, towards the cellar. what is bruce doing down there, building a new cave? )

[That door Bruce both blocks and holds closed. Nothing else, just that one. particular. door. The stairs are trapped, though likely not lethally, and he certainly does not want to have to haul a wolf - or whatever this hell is - up with a broken leg or worse if he fails to navigate them correctly.]

( well. so much for that plan. fine, bruce. he'll be good.

but not before turning his chin up at him and huffing, like he's put out. jason runs back off in the direction of the room where bruce keeps his shit and -

before bruce has the time to catch up to him, there's the grotesque sound of cartilage cracking, bones shifting under flesh as canine turns to man in front of the closet. jason's down on the floor, shaking his head out and running fingers through his hair before getting up onto his knees and - stealing a pair of pants.

these are his pants now. bruce isn't getting them back. but he did pick out a pair that looked a little more worn out. more a habit than anything else. )

You really shouldn't let weird dogs inside, B.

[ He isn't far behind the wolf, but he isn't breaking into a run to beat him into his room, either.

Not that it's far.

Certainly he hears the change, and intuitively understands what it is.

He doesn't expect to see Jason, but he isn't surprised by it, either.]

Let's an interesting word.

[But maybe for the first time in a very long time when it comes to Jason, he sounds...warm. Amused, impressed and a little proud, but there's warmth there. Because hey. Jason got in here and took him by surprise, even after all that. He... doesn't hate it, actually]

( jason probably shouldn't be able to turn into an animal. probably. out of the numerous robins they have here, he's - the second worst choice for being given abilities beyond what a human being should be capable of. first being tim, who jason imagines would likely use it to avoid having to people for the rest of eternity.

damian's already rabid enough, it wouldn't change shit for him.

regardless, these are his pants now, and he's also snagging a shirt from the closet because it's less cold way back here, but it's more cold the closer to the door they get. and he intends to wander. )

I could have been a spy.

[ His eyebrows actually go up, but only a tiny bit at Jason stealing his clothes. He's not actually bothered, at all. It's more that it's... weirdly endearing for him, and even more weirdly reassuring? satisfying? Something like one of those.]

There's nothing here I'm worried about hiding. [Even downstairs, actually, though his cape and the gloves to use it - and their batteries - are down there, too.] Breaking in and stealing me blind might be inconvenient. [At worst]

...You should probably add socks and shoes to the outfit or you're going to get frostbite trying to leave.

I'll shift back before I head out. ( no frostbite for his toebeans. jason's got his things stashed elsewhere, which he'll return to when he's done bothering bruce. coming in hadn't been the intention - if it had, he would've carried his things along with him. ah, well. it's not a huge deal. )

Stick around long enough, and this place might just gift you with some fucked up ability you never asked for. ( though now that he's thinking about it, ) I don't know if Timbers and the brat ended up with anything.

Bruce has decided to hole up in the church, which left Tim groaning when he first found out. Not only is this a small town with people starved for gossip (Tim would know because he is one of those people who will unapologetically slither up to hot gos), but Tim is Tim and Bruce is Bruce. And so of course he knows where this jerk is staying. (Sometimes. Maybe.)

Now, Tim is avoiding B. Or ,had been.

And then there was the shit with the Forest Talkers, and Tim had avoided B even more.

But here he is, juggling the doorknob until he finally and successfully picks the lock because Bruce and Jason have robbed him of the ability to let himself in through a window.

It's so not fair.

Tim, no longer in his favorite coat (it died much like his common sense has long since died) and instead in four-to-five layers of hoodies of questionable fit, thinks he might smell offensively of sharp alcohol. Cool. He hopes Bruce suffers because of it.

There's something to lay himself down on in this room and so Tim commandeers whatever that something is, left leg propped gingerly over the arm rest and the rest of him with a lame and thin sheen of sweat. Tim, testing the waters (because everything has to be a test), throws a forearm over his eyes in a mockery of total teen dramatics.

"Bruce?," he croaks, and he swears he is going to throw himself in the lake if this dumb show doesn't work out; he hopes Bruce suffers.

"Bruce," he mewls, a storm raging within but making space for an exercise in perfecting his poker face when confronting The Batman. Tim, knowing more than he's ever going to say, peers blearily at dear ol' Dad and says,

"I think I'm going to die a virgin."

Bruce does not come in from outside. Bruce comes up from the cellar, then in from the living quarters through a door at the back of the sanctuary.

Bruce loves this place. It's so easy to have a buffer zone, a live-able 'public' space, and then a highly and easily defensible one. Graveyard being full of bodies and the cellar clearly having been used to store them before burial is irrelevant.

Coming out to finding Tim draped across one of the pews he's pushed against the walls to reclaim open space in the center of the sanctuary, however, is... different.

"You certainly look like dying in the relatively near future is possible. Would you prefer a bed?" And someone to look at him? And-

Bruce they have had wholeass autopsies in there. The hell is wrong with you.

Tim pulls a face, annoyance poorly masking the vulnerability of amusement. Because he can't help it. He wishes he could but can't. The bar is on the floor and Bruce... "Touché."

He waves that hand that had been covering his face. And shuffles himself up to sitting even though his leg is doing that thing where it grows dead-weight heavy. "I'm just going to wait out the nausea," he says. "You know that thing in the movies where the big hero just pours booze into their wound to disinfect it?"

Don't look at him like that.

Tim knows that Bruce knows that he knows that the only appropriate response to this rhetorical is, You did What.

Like he's supposed to be some kind of moron.

March's pine wine has way too much sugar and other sketch things. And also Tim's sure that he'll barf if he catches a whiff of that crap again. Ever patient with his old man, Tim looks on expecting-- actually, he has no freaking clue.

"I don't recommend it."

Damian is Damian, but Tim hadn't known that Jason had been Talia's pet once upon a time; and now here's Bruce, who Tim Does Not Know, and there's an elephant in the room where Tim's spleen should be. Shut up, it makes perfect sense. (To him.)

He swallows dryly, asks, "How's the stock of altar wine-?"

Entertain him. The cut is several days old at this point. Tim, sour, figures that means that he's not dying after all. But he is still a virgin.

And that, dear reader, is distressing.

Edited 2024-10-09 20:44 (UTC)

What's wrong with him is being almost impossible to creep out, and a deep willingness to embrace his own fear and use it against other people.

So, same answer as other bats, just different presentation: Trauma.

This might be the first time Bruce has fully understood what Tim was saying and the implications of it.

"I'm picking you up and then going to make an attempt at saving you from your misunderstanding of that. For the record: High proof, low sugar, distilled booze is what you need for that."

He has already smelled alcohol, knows the leg is propped up and - well, he has ears.

The sugar content in any wine does nothing but feed bacteria.

It strikes Tim that he owes Kate Marsh and her cute freckles several long apologies. And also he kind of wants to shake hands with Jesus.

B is picking up what he's puttin' down and there is a God after all.

The magic fizzles out quickly, but Tim allows himself that one moment to bask in the win of simple, human communication.

"Yeah, nah," he huffs. Thinks he picked up that yeah-no habit from one of the midwesterners. They're dead now. He did good on his promise to himself to stop learning names. It's bitter, and not at all sweet. Anyway. "I can walk. Thanks."

As he has been doing.

Tim frowns, steels himself, and stands.

Ta-fucking-da.

"High proof. Low sugar. How many of the people here are labeling their moonshine? Since you know the homebrew scene better than I do."

A.ny.way.

"You been to Lakeside yet?"

He'll accept walking since Tim managed to break in to sprawl out on a fucking church pew, but he does not ask permission or give warning for taking his arm and effectively hauling him to sit, and then stand, and making damn sure he stays on his feet through the space and back to the bedroom.

That is tidy, neat, basic, has his clothes in the closet but seems largely unused.

"Moonshine is distilled. Distillation removes the sugar content to a low enough percentage to be effectively zero - and safe for application to open wounds." Just, you know, going to keep that line of communication (and pedantic bullshit) going, so he doesn't have to show too much open emotion and concern.

Getting manhandled is fine. Tim expects it; he leans more weight than is strictly necessary on Bruce. Habit. Comfort. Pettiness. Tiredness. The answer is yes.

The answer is, yes, there is a God, and He delights in Tim's misery.

Like a mule, the kid digs his heels in and earns himself an electric shock of ow fuck ow as he braces his damn self and refuses to budge the moment he pays attention to where he's going. It's one thing to break into the man's den and another to melt into a gracious touch but

God, Bruce does not deserve this, and by this Tim means that

like what if like Louis or someone else with half a brain, like

ya done it again, Tim, ya absolute jackass.

This is bullshit, everything is bullshit, he has to grind his teeth together to ensure he's not about to open his stupid mouth any time soon and so here's the scene:

Tim wonders about getting eaten by a wolf. Several wolves.

Swear to God he's gonna barf and wow if this doesn't take the cake for the stupidest fucking corner he has ever stupidly fucking painted himself into

his dad, rolling in his grave.

Tim. absolutely not in Bruce's bedroom. thank you. scowls in the direction where he knows the graveyard sits.

He has that place all mapped out, you know. He got here in a festive fucking mood for Dia de los Muertos and he and his fucking broken arm had cleaned up and mapped out all the headstones and he had jot down all the names and

there's more people buried there now than a year ago, so like,

fuck if Tim's ever going to do that again.

"So that's a No to Lakeside-?"

Because, glaring daggers at Bruce Wayne and expecting he has no idea what, the least he can do is dig his own grave that little bit deeper.

"It's a simple question, damn."

Edited (Wordz) 2024-10-09 23:00 (UTC)

He's immune to being glared at, and while Tim is clearly not okay with being anywhere near this bedroom, Bruce doesn't have much choice in places that are both heated and contain flat surfaces.

He'll worry while he works; he's good at multi-tasking.

"I haven't been, no. Should I go?" Also, without missing a beat: "Where on the leg is the injury." That you basically poured sugar into.

No, no, not just glaring: glaring daggers. Besides, who needs warm places to work. Tim's already sweating like a sinner in church. --wait.

"You know I'm not as stupid as you're thinking I am, right?"

His stupid fucking ego demands it. Tim's stupid fucking mouth, having now been given permission to run wild, apparently, decides it's best to explain. Because his hackles are up, his eyes are sharp.

Tim hobbles to the bed, sits and rolls up the leg of his pants.

"I haven't been slathering maple syrup on it," he grumbles.

He should have totally slathered maple syrup on-- Tim, for the love of all that is Holy, focus.

"I had some good alcohol. There's still some supplies out in Lakeside. By the dam, usually. It makes sense. They'd take care of their workforce and keep their stash separate from the the first-aid-kits here."

And Tim thinks, he should have just doused his dumb ass in alcohol and gasoline and

"I've kept the cut covered. It's just... slow."

the injury isn't pretty but it's not the worst that he's had or that B has ever seen him have. Small mercies. The laceration is, frankly, hardly anything to fuss about.

Save for the whole missing organ- immune system connection that Tim hadn't plugged into Google when he had had the chance and god he misses Google but also... man, he still doesn't know what Bruce knows or is supposed to know about him. And it has. him. bristling.

Tim Drake and the unknown don't mix. Never have.

He says, through grit teeth,

"You know we've put people in here before we can put 'em in their holes, right? Hell, we've even split open a few of them. And you thought this was a good place to hunker down and cozy up in? The first autopsy was conducted on La'an. She was the first one who got chewed up and spit out by the Darkwalker. She was my friend, and you decided that it would be a good idea to cosplay as a vampire and haunt the freaking church of all places."

Unbelievable.

Bruce loves Tim.

If he didn't, he would be far more capable of handling every single thing Tim says feeling like it is a piece to a different puzzle. Because he loves Tim it makes him feel like he is the one going insane.

And failing.

"I decided that I needed an easily defensible location with a variety of zones to defend." He leaves Tim on the bed. "Stay there." Don't make him drag you back.

He'll be back with hot water and soap.

Also? You're not the only one worried about what's going on with your immune system.

Well at least one of them still believes there's a puzzle to work out despite the crap enfolding the cardboard pieces; Tim tried to ditch the trash in the dumpster.

But he's weaker in his resolve than he ever wanted to be.

So it's a hangdog silence when Bruce returns. Tim hadn't tried to disappear into the old floorboards like a roach. He looks at the floor and only the floor, and he shows off the cut and its clean but lazy red drip.

"Look Ma, no gangrene," he mumbles. And he's a sorry sight, because Tim's drowning in guilt. We put 'em in their holes- who the hell says that about the dead.

Tim scrubs at his face.

Focus.

B gave him some good... crumbs of...

"Robin stays at Lakeside," he says. Reports. Whatever. "Some people were gifted telepathy. From the Aurora. But it's not enough, because the gift isn't... I don't know how to word it."

Fucking tired, Bruce. He's fucking tired.

(Bitch more about it, Drake.)

"The communication needs to be more accessible. And trustworthy. Which you can't get if you need to rely on one or two people and... he-says, she-says. Bruce, if we had had half of a working warning system we wouldn't have gotten our asses kicked and"

(Timothy Drake and getting to the point, a divorced concept. It was a bad divorce. There were kids involved. And Derpy. Derpy didn't deserve-)

"We need a Bat signal."

Yes. He's serious.

Tim still being there is almost a surprise- not quite, but nearly and if it had been it would have been a pleasant one.

He eyes up the cut, and then gets busy using soap and water on it. Not having gangrene now doesn't mean it can't get it later. He's not overly gentle about it, but nor is he intentionally rough - efficient sums that one up pretty well.

He is quiet while he works, but it isn't because he isn't (or hasn't been) listening to Tim. It's because he is listening. Listening, taking it as seriously and considering.

"For how many people and at what range?"

Also, unspoken but: Fuck telepathy.

Edited 2024-10-11 00:02 (UTC)

Thank you.

Tim feels like he wants to cry. (Take a shot.)

"--."

He closes his mouth, having to remind himself that he is dangerously close to chewing his whole tongue off at this rate if bites down on it one more time. That would make a lot of people happy.

Tim, a wuss, keeps stubborn eyes away from B. And away from the wound.

Ow, you jerk, and second,

"I don't know. Ask Robin."

He's not even trying to snark about it he just thinks

B, please understand. He has no idea. And so the guilt grows.

Edited 2024-10-11 00:20 (UTC)

He's not upset by the answer, though there is... another piece to one of the puzzles in play with Tim in there, for him.

Mostly he's got one knee on the ground and is making sure that wound does some decent bleeding in the process of getting it cleaned up.

"I'll track him down and get some more information for him - or make an educated guess and pull something together. Do you know who the telepaths are?"

He does, but momma didn't raise no snitch.

Tim takes the excuse to search the bedroom a little from where he's positively trapped on the edge of the bed. If he's not careful, he's going to zonk out in two-point-two minutes and he'll refuse to wake up and welcome himself back to the world of the living unless hell itself has frozen over. Oh, wait.

"You'll figure it out," he says, because it's plain as day (which is waning in its light every day and Tim's just sitting here dreaming about a nap-)

"You're in a church and some people here really love their Jesus in the mornings. You're going to sit through so many sermons. I think all of the Aurora gifts take some getting used to. Someone nearly burned down the Store with their new firebending. That... was actually kind of funny."

There were Mushrooms.

Anyway,

It's very uncomfortably warm now that he's inside and still with four-to-five hoodies wrapped around him, most of questionable fit. The thing is, about hoodies, ya can't just chuck them off. You gotta do that damned wiggle to peel them off. And Tim's not about that life.

(Bruce, he's tired, what's the matter if he bleeds all over the mattress-)

Tim ponders... whether or not he even answered B's question. Frankly? Man, he doesn't know. He's been running around with his head half cut off and it's rude as hell that this useless man is demanding answers from him that he should have himself.

Speaking of

Tim is weak, his bloodline is weak, he will not survive the winter-

but.

"I told you about Christmas Pig, right?"

Frankly he has no id

"He threw up a chainsaw for me. Real cool dude. We can get more firewood in one Aurora than four guys can get in three days."

What he means is,

that's a lot of care going into a leg that's to be abused into usefulness. So help him God.

If he is going to figure it out, why in the name of hell does he need to figure it out instead of being told?

Never mind, that is absolutely an answer he'd given.

Once he's gotten some decent blood flow out of that cut, Bruce stops torturing Tim in the name of concerns and gets busy cleaning it up, with actually clean bandaging. He suspects it won't stay that way and Tim won't bother, but still.

"No one's told me about the Christmas pig, yet. I don't think I want to know. If I turn telepathic here, someone should knock me unconscious immediately for everyone's sake."

He's just... replying where and to what he can.

While gathering pieces and forming a picture.

Sucks to suck.

Tim lets himself indulge in a hiss- he's hurting. Obviously. For more than one reason. Perhaps less obvious. Especially where B is involved. The man's positively hopeless. But Tim figures he can hiss his displeasure and not get sass about it.

Sass. Christmas Pig.

"Huge... pig. Dude, we all thought we were going to die," he explains. And maybe he still thinks they're all going to die, but that's too much for now. Everything is too much for now. Tim had just wanted to sleep off the nausea and harass this son of a bitch in the process and

(he's sorry, Mrs. Wayne, he didn't mean-)

Obviously Bruce will get a horse tranq if he ends up in someone else's head. That would be cruel and unusual and extremely punitive punishment for whoever ends up as the casualty. Not to mention the whole Secret thing. So Tim doesn't bother to acknowledge that bit.

So:

Damian's got the zombies.

Tim's got the vampires.

Bruce has got the mind readers.

Jason still gets the werewolves because Tim Drake is convinced it makes sense.

Anyway,

"There's the firebenders, the telepaths, and the ones who run really fast but not Speedforce fast."

There's more gifts. Tim's sure. He doesn't know what, and it kills him to not know. It kills him in ways Bruce can understand.

It helps. To feel less- totally frigging lost. About everything. All the time.

Ketamine, hit him over the head with something hard enough to crack his (thick) skull, or he'll just slam his own head into something hard and do it himself. He'd feel bad for telepaths that already exist here, but if they go into his head without an invitation (that he will not be issuing), they deserve what they get.

Which would be a lot. Bruce is a master of compartmentalization and his brain works in an orderly enough way, but it also has more minefields than the Northern Barrage.

"At least two thirds of those make sense in this setting." The third doesn't make sense to him anywhere.

He definitely uses information to... build a safety net of sorts and not having it isn't great. He gets that. He also suspects Tim is both feeding him information intentionally (good), as much as just frustrated by his own lack of enough of it. This place isn't exactly forthcoming with it.

Meanwhile: "You need sleep."

The bar is on he floor. Tim's lips twitch up in a smirk.

To say the bar is on the floor is inaccurate, though the phrasing itself sticks around to offer comfort either through absurdity or familiarity.

The bar is encrusted into the floor. It's been dug in and stuck there and it's hardly even a raised bump among the floorboards.

Tim hums, "Yeah? What gave that away?"

World's Greatest Detective was a moniker only ever smothered in sarcasm.

But it's enough for Tim, and he nods to Captain Obvious. Sleeping off the wooziness of the moment had been the plan. Cool. They're not on the same page, or same book, or same library. Maybe they're in the same city. And that's cool.

"Roger, wilco," he says. And sits up straighter in preparation for, "Help me up. I'm sleeping in the benches."

Look who just walked into the room/ The guilted and faded

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

I'm here to crash the father son bonding with:

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw we alluding to some poor decision making of the self worth type that alludes to some SA sssstuff

no subject

cw injury, intrusive thoughts but that's every tag tbh

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject