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

[knightbynight]

Who: Bruce and Jason (closed) + Catch All
What: Wolf stalking and assorted things
When: October.
Where: Around the church
Content Warnings: Complicated family dynamics. Will edit if needed.




There's a wolf (probably wolf, could be another large wild animal) stalking and snooping around his cabin.

It isn't being all that subtle - the temperatures are low enough that tracks aren't so much a thing, but even without that... not all that subtle.

Also, he's fucking Batman.

That leaves him in a weird position. He's cautious enough and has reason to be - it's a fucking wolf, not a stray dog. But he's also perfectly well aware there's at least one... pet? wolf within Milton.

That has him going outside, but carefully, to stand just outside. He watches and listens, waits and sees, basically. Ignores what the cold is doing to pretty much every joint in his body.

But close to the door so he can get back inside if he has to. ...also with the sharpened metal bat he arrived with in his pocket. Just in case. (And also with the acute awareness doing this is probably stupid, but not quite able to stop himself).

Comments

[knightbynight]

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.

[ployboy]

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.

[knightbynight]

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."

[ployboy]

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."