diffindo | ↠ free for all.

There was something different about the mansion this morning, and it wasn't the way the furniture was arranged or how the place looked oddly lived in, when the old man didn't usually inhabit any of the rooms he passed through to get down into the sub-levels of the building that housed things people shouldn't see. Things the public didn't know about and wouldn't know about, if he had anything to say about it. Especially since the things down in this basement now had as much to do with him as they did Mr. Wayne. Now, about that thing that was off...

"Ace?" Usually the dog was waiting at the steps, eager to greet him, but the beast was nowhere to be found. "Ace! Here boy!"

Huh. Well, that was weird. As was the sudden layout change down here, too. What in the world was going on?

After the events with Harvey Dent and The Joker, Bruce had become a recluse. Contrary to what Alfred tended to believe these days, it was by accident. When Batman had taken the fall for Harvey's crimes, Bruce had meant to hang up his Batsuit and parade all over Gotham like there was nothing wrong. It was an insult to believe the people of Gotham weren't observant; if both Batman and Bruce Wayne happened to disappear, he was sure someone would connect the dots. With his luck, this someone would be loud. Bruce had tried to keep up appearances, but his footsteps always faltered, or his fingers always pressed the phone to cancel appearances. When he hadn't been looking, Batman and Bruce Wayne had merged; he wasn't sure where the playboy he used to be began and where the vigilante everyone refused to call a hero ended.

Being a shut-in meant he lacked the usual company he'd come to be known for. Hearing a voice in a room near the one he was in was something unexpected. Bruce didn't open his house up to strangers, not unless there was an appointment, and even then, he seemed to embody more disinterest than he did previously when it came to his business and social life. On instinct, and possibly stupidity as he was unarmed and therefore vulnerable, he followed the voice as it called out for something.

"I'm afraid whoever you're calling won't be able to hear you," he said, walking into the room. He gestured around. It was only him and Alfred, as far as he knew. "If there's a frisbee out the back, I have a doorbell for a reason." Not that he knew how to answer the door. Alfred did everything for him these days.

In the future, it was Terry who did everything for him, Alfred having passed on long before Terry was even born. Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl, and all others who'd been affiliated with Bruce and/or the original Batman had either followed suit or moved on to greener, less cowl-filled pastures. Bruce himself had hung up his cape and called it quits when age finally caught up to him and forced him to stop being so damned stubborn. Batman vanished - until Terry appeared and took up the mantle himself. Now it was Terry wearing the suit and Bruce sitting behind the controls, guiding him via comm link as he continued what Bruce had started so long ago.

This guy, however, wasn't Bruce. The voice was eerily familiar, but unstrained by age, Terry didn't recognize it.

"Uh, hi." Terry waved, unsure and on alert. The suit was in his backpack. Probably should've worn it under his clothes, but there'd been no reason to. "Is Mr. Wayne around? I've got--" He cut himself off, something out of the corner of his eye distracting him and demanding his focus.

It was gone. The large glass case that held the suits - all of them, from Bruce's own suit to the ones his sidekicks had worn - was gone. Throughout the damage they'd sustained down here and the the times Bruce had moved things around, that case had stayed in the exact same place. And now it wasn't there. "Man, if you just took what I think you took, there is going to be some serious hell to pay."

It was a shock to have someone not know who he was. His face had been plastered all over Gotham's publications, from television to print. Sometimes they were so saturated in it that he had to admit he was sick of seeing his face even in his mirror.

"I'm -" He noticed he probably didn't have his new acquaintance's attention any longer. Bruce followed Terry's gaze, turning slightly to see what had caught his attention. He thought maybe Alfred was standing there, hands behind his back, looking amused at Bruce socialising, but all he saw was his furniture.

Turning back, he was finding this entire exchange to be completely out of his usual realm of weird. With his eyebrows raised, he couldn't help but be a bit amused at the accusation. This was his house; he wasn't Robin Hood who robbed from the rich and put those items on display in his lonely mansion. "Excuse me?"

"The suits. Big glass case, kinda hard to miss." Terry gestured to the space said case of suits should be occupying. "They're--" Outfits once worn by some of Gotham's greatest heroes, and people he's pretty sure meant, or still mean, a great deal to the old man. Can't very well say that, can he?

"Halloween costumes. Some pretty seriously rare Halloween costumes that my boss is kind of attached to. We can save everyone a lot of trouble if you just give them back. And explain how you managed to ditch the case. What do you got on you, some sort of melting device?"

A part of Bruce knew exactly what Terry was referring to. The only big glass case he had was down in the Batcave. He'd retired the suit to the glass case that he kept hidden between the rocks down there. He felt it was safer. No one looked for a Batsuit in the underground natural basement. "There's never been a glass case there," he opted to say. "Let alone with Halloween costumes."

One step at a time. Bruce was a man of many words; concise, to the point, a smartass when the situation called for it. This was not one of those times, however. He knew any smart comment would derail the conversation and get him no answers he was now apparently seeking. He also had a feeling that it'd only anger his companion even more. Taking control of the situation and getting to the core of whatever this kid was talking about was his goal. "Who's your boss?"

Man, if only he could just outright ask if the guy took Batman's suits, but things were never that simple. Wearing a mask came with secret identities that couldn't be revealed. He was experiencing that personally. Most of the time, the urge to say, 'Hey, I'm Batman,' wasn't there, but there were moments - like when his little brother would talk about how great Batman was - that he wanted to say it. And, of course, there were the moments when he had to ditch Dana and his friends to run off and save the day. Explaining the real reason why would seem less lame than running off to supposedly tend to the needs of an old man.

Speaking of... "I work for Bruce Wayne. I'm his personal assistant, and I don't remember you being on staff."

"I'm not staff," was the first thing that came to his mind. At first he was amused at the idea of someone not knowing who he was. It was a breath of fresh air he hadn't expected he craved. But now it was proving to be a problem.

Bruce didn't remember hiring any more staff. Unless Alfred had done something behind his back ... But his dear friend would be smug rather than secretive about it. He was looking at Terry as though he had two heads; eyebrows furrowed, an amused yet confused look on his face. Nothing was matching up, from the location of these glass cases to the Bruce Wayne these two both knew.

He knew Alfred wouldn't have done that, even for the amusement factor. The Wayne Mansion held secrets that neither were prepared to let anyone know. A mere press of specific piano keys would open a secret door that led to the Batcave. Opening his home to anyone but his family was a risk that neither wanted to put to chance. Batman may have left, but his ghost still remained in Gotham.

"I don't remember having a personal assistant, unless this is Alfred's doing." At the mention of the name, Bruce turned to see if maybe Alfred had snuck up on him and was now lingering at the doorway. It was still empty. And if his slip, even though it couldn't be called one, was anything to go by, Bruce had just put a nametag to his face.

"Obviously," Terry said to the first statement, frustration bubbling up under his skin. Frustration and concern at the mention of the old man's former butler and this man's implied identity. It couldn't be. ...could it?

Now officially weirded out (and worried), Terry took a step back and reached into his pocket, drawing out something that should look very familiar to Bruce. Bat-shaped, sharp, but rounder and edged in red instead of all black. He held it up expertly, like it was a familiar part of himself, ready to throw it in Bruce's direction at a moment's notice. He really should've worn the suit under his clothes today.

"Look pal, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but you're not Bruce Wayne. Mr. Wayne's an old man, and Alfred Pennyworth died years ago - before I was even born."

Bruce glanced down to see what Terry held out to him. Of course he remembered something that he and Lucius had designed. An entire kit of them rested down in the Batcave, near his suit. Recognition reflected on his face at the sign of the tiny Bat weapons that felt more at home in his hand than the coldness of a gun. "I'm not a fan of games," he said, although a bit absently. It was clear he didn't understand what was unravelling between them. But he knew, for a fact, that he was neither old nor Alfred-less. He knew that the day he was, the latter rather than the former, would be the day he broke into pieces.

With his hands in his pockets, perhaps not a smart thing to do, Bruce decided that the one thing that always proved a burden in his life was now a blessing. "I'll show you," he said, and with that, he turned. He did glance behind him to see if Terry was following. If this kid was so intent on telling him who he was, there was no way he'd pass up the chance to shout in his face that he was wrong about who he was when shown the proof.

It wasn't a long walk. He guided them to a room with a table, something similar to a dining room, where a few magazines and bits of paper were laid out along it. A piano that had a few alterations made to it sat to the side in front of a bookshelf. It looked lived in, but it probably lacked the warm air of a house that was properly lived in. The state of the table showed he wasn't expecting company, as this table would've been immaculate and bare if he was. "I've never had to prove who I was before, but -" He grabbed a magazine from the table, one that had been lying faced down, and he flipped it over as he held it out for Terry to see. It wasn't the best proof one could show, but it was something. A connection between the name and the face. "If I'm not Bruce Wayne, then I'm afraid I can't answer your 'Who am I?' question."

Terry followed, bat-shaped weapon still clutched tightly in his hand. He took the magazine with his free hand, examining the cover and looking up to meet the eyes of the man who claimed to be Bruce Wayne. The problem with that was that Bruce Wayne was old. He could beat the crap out of you with his cane, but he was just an old man who had hung up his cowl for good and stepped into the role of adviser for someone who was more capable. Terry was proud to be Batman, and was starting to really understand what it meant to be Neo Gotham's hero beyond the initial vendetta against Powers for what happened to his dad.

"This can't--" Dropping the magazine to the table it came from, the teen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Man, if this is some kind of time loop thing... I hate time loops. Don't you hate time loops? Just because some people figured out how to tamper with time doesn't mean you should. Then again, half the crazies in this town are doing the same with things other than time, so really, what's the difference?"

Bruce's eyebrows raised slightly at Terry's words. For someone who was cold and tight-lipped, barely saying more than a sentence to him, this sudden change was quite surprising for Bruce. Albeit, this Bruce didn't quite know Terry - or anyone outside of Alfred - all too well.

He made a mental note to be sure to investigate anyone interested in time travel. He knew what he'd be spending his night doing - once Terry was safely returned to his home. Wherever that may be, as that seemed to be the case with his ranting."Can't say I've ever experienced one," he managed. Time loops were not something the Batman of this universe had come across. Crazy clowns, guys who liked to wear bags over their heads, even people with a fondness for wearing cat ears (so he's heard from Gordon) were things that were common and made up Bruce's resume - or would, in the future - but as for time travels, there were no Time Lords wreaking havov in Gotham. Even though he was a recluse, he felt as though he'd know.

As to Terry's question, even though it may have been rhetorical, Bruce quipped, "Difference might be that the DeLorean and Doc Browns aren't making the front pages with their recent time loop discoveries."

"Splicers, Jokerz, and Corrupt CEOs tend to hog all those front page stories," Terry said, still gripping the weapon tightly in his hand. Just because he thought he'd figured this one out didn't mean he was going to let his guard down. That would've been stupid, and though he was still relatively new at all this bat stuff, he knew better than to leave himself unarmed, young Mr. Wayne or not.

That reference is, sadly, lost on the boy from 2039 has never seen Back to the Future. (The irony of it all.) "Who's Doc Brown?"

Edited 2012-08-12 00:09 (UTC)

↠ free for all.

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