Day 37: Breakfast

[scarletspeedstr.livejournal.com]

[for Sylar, I believe]

At the sound of the intercom, Wally jerked awake and blinked around at the room. He’d fallen asleep. He should have been up and keeping an eye open for ZEX, but he’d fallen asleep waiting on his bed.

“Idiot,” he groaned, ruffling his hair and sighing in annoyance. “Way to help a guy out, hotshot.” Hopefully ZEX hadn’t dropped by and thought he’d left or something, or wouldn’t be too mad at him for just forgetting about it like that. If he was lucky, he’d be able to catch up with the other patient at some point and explain what had happened.

Rolling himself a little awkwardly out of the bed, Wally took the opportunity to stretch his injured leg and test how well it was holding up. It was feeling a bit better, not so much that he could abandon his crutch or that it didn’t pull painfully if he wasn’t careful, but better. Tony had apparently made it through the night in one piece as well, which was a relief. He really didn’t feel comfortable about the thought of his roommate wandering about on his own with an injured arm. Not when Wally himself could relax and fall asleep in the apparent safety of their room.

Yeah, he wasn’t going to let himself forget that one in a hurry.

It was at that moment that the door swung open to admit one of the nurses. She seemed surprised to find him awake and ready to go already, but smiled warmly. “Hungry, are we Mr. West? Well in that case, let’s get you to the cafeteria. The staff have provided some delicious French Toast as well as a range of other foods I’m sure you’ll like. Now will you be needing a hand with your leg, dear?”

“No thanks, I can handle it,” Wally replied, smiling back. After all, it probably wasn’t the nurses’ fault that this place was so messed up, so it wasn’t like picking fights with them would do anything. With a cheery wave goodbye, Wally slowly made his way to the cafeteria, keeping a tight grip on his crutch all the while. Obtaining a plate of food was only slightly less difficult than it had been yesterday – he didn’t have the painkillers to work around this time – but he managed well enough, coming away from the buffet with a tray containing a plate piled high with slices of French Toast and slathered in maple syrup, butter, and sugar, as well as a glass of juice. Not quite as good as some coffee would be right now, but the sugar would hopefully make up for it. And, with how few people were here at the moment, he could afford to take more food than might have been considered ‘normal’ – he’d have most of it gone by the time anyone came to keep him company, then he could just worry about how many extra serves would be allowed before he aroused suspicion.

Feeling pretty happy with how things were looking so far, Wally hummed faintly to himself as he dug in to his breakfast.

Comments

[gothamnight.livejournal.com]

[Fearmaster with his toast, please?]

For the second time in the past (and very unusual) night, Bruce found himself unconscious--then, upon opening his eyes, abruptly awake. Blinking, Bruce felt the familiar sensation of his eyes adjusting to the light as he looked around the room: identical to the one he'd woke up in, if not the same. His eyes narrowed as he went over what he remembered with a slight feeling of déjà vu. Perhaps he should be grateful that the bed was warmer now, and his body still--

--injured. He was still injured. The same makeshift bandages around his neck and back and arms; the same coagulated flecks and drops of pus and blood on his--still mocking--shirt and pants. Well, at least he was in the same place--if not the same condition--that he'd arrived in. He wasn't sure what his reaction would have been if he'd woken in another strange location, though he'd admit, part of him had been hoping that perhaps once
morning came, he'd find this all an absurd and impossibly realistic dream. No such luck; though, despite his hopes, Bruce hadn't really expected any.

The last thing he could remember was discussing Victorian-Era swimwear with Grell Sutcliffe and Donna Noble. Before that, they talked about time travel, parallel dimensions, pop-culture-based jokes only they'd been about Batman instead of something like the Gray Ghost. Before that they'd fought rotting bat monsters, walked the hallways...

...yes, Bruce had all his memories from the moment he'd woken up in the institute up until now, only there was another gap in his memory between the swimming conversation and waking up. The second gap in his memory in so many hours.

It was then that the door handle turned--quiet, but not quiet enough. Sure enough, another moment and the door opened, and Bruce focused completely on the figure who entered.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne," the nurse--for she was a nurse, judging by the uniform--said with a smile that looked like it'd been cut from a billboard advertising toothpaste. "I trust you had a restful ni--oh dear," she said, clucking a bit as her eyes settled on Bruce's bandages.

"Sorry," he said, flinching automatically when she touched him. He forced himself to relax, and aimed another sheepish but hopefully charming smile at her as he let her take a look at the injuries.

"I really meant to take it easy while I'm here," he said calmly, remembering that if this place was pretending to be a mental institution during daytime, it'd be best to play along on the off-chance that the nurses would let down their guard. "But...something about this place just isn't doing it for me. I've been a bit...tense. Jumpy."

"That's nothing to be concerned about, Mr. Wayne. All the new patients take awhile to adjust properly to things," she said with the same, unflappable smile. "After we get you patched up, we'll see if we can't have you more relaxed and smiling."

[gothamnight.livejournal.com]

Seeing how his first attempts at questioning the staff were going...somehow, Bruce doubted that. Outwardly though, Bruce Wayne grinned a little.

"Oh? And is it in your interest to see me smile?"

This effort was rewarded with a startled sort of giggling laughter. After that, the nurse seemed less wary--though any attempts at getting some specific answers from her about the Institute were generally unsuccessful. It was when she made to escort him to where he could get his wounds treated before breakfast that Bruce finally risked asking a real question--the one that'd been lingering in the back of his mind since he'd found out he had an "alternate life" in this place.

"Um, nurse..."

She blinked, but kept smiling, "Yes, Mr. Wayne?"

"About my parents..."

The cheery smile on the nurse's face dropped suddenly away as a look of concern and sympathy replaced it. He thought he'd heard her mutter and here I thought he'd-- as she picked up the pen and jotted something down on her clipboard, leaving Bruce's question hanging until she was done and finally looked up again.

"They're....not here, Mr. Wayne," she said, still with that look of quiet but superficial sympathy. "And they won't ever be. Do you think you can remember? They--"

"--were shot to death by a mugger when I was eight," he finished hollowly, a hope he hadn't realized he'd been harboring dissipating and giving away to a familiar weight. Truthfully, he had no way of knowing that this imitation of the world would be so accurate, but judging from how the nurse winced at his blunt words and averted her gaze...


...some time later, Bruce (newly bandaged and disinfected) was led to the Sun Room to get breakfast. As he looked around, he found himself thinking of that other time--the time when Jervis Tetch had found it fit to lock the Batman's brain away in Bruce's ideal, imaginary world. A world full of happiness, and no responsibility. In a way, the strangeness he felt now was a kind of déjà vu: another fake, another battle, another escape. And yet, far from being any sort of ideal, this place was...he'd just confirmed it was...

...at least the Hatter'd been kind enough to give them back.

[gothamnight.livejournal.com]

As they entered another room filled with sounds of breakfast and talking, Bruce brought his mind back to the situation at hand and forced the distracted pensiveness from his gaze. A bulletin board some distance away caught his eye, and though he hadn't heard Donna mention it, Bruce walked over to it and took a look.

The first thing that he noticed was the obvious: he could read. The notes people'd written on the bulletin board--a scattering of different languages, but primarily English and Japanese--were not only legible, but filled with valuable information which he would most definitely need. Provided this place's magic or technology didn't tamper with basic biological functions, were this a dream, Bruce wouldn't have been able to read so clearly seeing as the function required the right side of the brain, the majority of which was went into a sort of "sleeping state" during periods of extended lack of consciousness.

Not a dream, then. The parallel dimensions theory was still the most plausible, if to Bruce the most foreign. He took another glance at the bulletin board, etching into his memory all he could read in but that brief instant. Bruce Wayne couldn't be caught loitering too long here--not now, at least. He'd come back later and peruse the other contents later. He needed the maps more than anything; he could copy them down in the notebook.

Turning his attention back to the room and people around him, Bruce didn't need to feign the look of blankness, though he perhaps exaggerated the confusion. There was no one here he recognized--no one except a brown-haired teenager at one of the tables, who seemed somehow familiar, though Bruce couldn't place him. He didn't even see Donna or Grell, but by now he was more than convinced enough of how very real their interactions had been last night. On the upside, someone had yet to recognize him, though that was likely due to the fact that no one had paid him any real attention. Perhaps there was hope for him yet; the last thing he needed was for anyone to recognize him as Bruce Wayne, and advertise it to a public who may or may not, like Donna, associate the name automatically with "Batman."

No one he recognized so far...but he'd have to be cautious. Most of the ideas in his head right now were only speculative--he had very little solid evidence to back up any of his hunches or theories. Only a few things were certain: he was in a mental institution (or, at least, some kind of complex that masqueraded as one), without the Batsuit, without his belt, and without his freedom. It was, in many respects, one of the worst situations he could be in. But there was nothing to do but to make the best of it.

Maintaining a blank and disoriented expression, Bruce Wayne grabbed a plate and sat down.

[scaredy-crow.livejournal.com]

Last night had been a strange one, but still rather satisfying overall. It had been far too long since he'd enjoyed observing other peoples' reactions to fear, and he would need to make it a point to try that more often here. Whether or not Harley wanted to believe what he'd told her before that was up to her. Crane's nurse even commented on his good mood, but he simply shrugged and said that he'd gotten a good amount of sleep.

While he stepped in line for breakfast, he looked around at several of the newer faces. The head doctor certainly wasted no time in bringing new ones to replace the ones that had apparently disappeared the previous day, did he? One face in particular stuck out, though, not so much because it was new, but familiar. Crane was familiar enough with Gotham to remember the face of Bruce Wayne. It had been all over the news, after all, the man who had seemingly come back from the dead and caused such a strong stir in the community only shortly before Crane had been brought here. And even more shortly before Batman had shown up.

Of course, the man looked slightly different from what he'd remembered plastered all over the news, but it was most definitely Bruce Wayne.

This was certainly an interesting choice of people to bring into the mix. There were a few quasi-normal people here, undoubtedly; for instance, Kristoph and Mikami came to his mind, but Crane got the feeling that, all others considered, there was more to the two of them than they had said. Lawyers did not get themselves stuck in a mental institution, no matter how unusual or twisted it may seem. He'd heard all the theories, and if this was some form of survival test, then the lawyers would have quickly died if they were normal and upstanding citizens. Everyone else could hardly be considered normal.

When he considered what he'd begun to wonder a few nights prior, then it was almost certain that Bruce Wayne was Batman. If he was as intelligent as Crane had been led to believe the Batman was, then he certainly wouldn't admit as much no matter how much he prodded. So he would have to go about this another way. The best idea would be to see if he could get a reaction from introducing himself. Bruce Wayne could very well be a problem, whether he was really Batman or not. Even if Bruce knew what Crane had been caught for prior to arriving in Landel's, he couldn't have the millionaire spreading that around and significantly decreasing his potential allies.

Yes, introducing himself and looking for a reaction would be the best course of action. If he moved first, he would have the advantage, and might get to keep it depending on how Wayne acted.

"I never would have thought that I'd be seeing you in a place like this, Mr. Wayne," he said smoothly as he went over to where the millionaire was sitting. "I would have thought society might rather coddle Gotham's prince than declare him insane."

Crane took a seat across from the man and gave him a polite smile. This was the closest thing to business that he'd come across in a while, but it was more important than anything else he'd done here. "Pardon me. I don't believe we've ever officially met. I'm Jonathan Crane."

[gothamnight.livejournal.com]

[A draught of acid, please. To put me out of my misery.]

"You and me both," Bruce said in a bored tone, not really looking up from picking at his breakfast.

"Honestly, even if this is about that Mardi-Gras bash at Ronnie's...lawyers and the police. What the hell are we paying them for, anyway?"

When he did look up, it was to check who the owner was of the pair of shapely legs that had just walked by and make a vague attempt at concealing his disappointment that the face wasn't more appealing. To all appearances, Bruce Wayne couldn't care less about the plainish-looking stranger that had just sat across from him.

Appearances were deceiving.

In fact, Bruce had heard what Crane said--every word, with perfect clarity and understanding. Jonathan Crane--could he ever forget that name? And yet, seeing as Bruce didn't recognize this 30-ish-year old man with brown hair and a businesslike smile...that could mean only one thing. Well, two things.

1) His job had just gotten a lot more difficult, and 2) This wasn't his Jonathan Crane.

Bruce didn't try to delude himself into thinking that perhaps this was simply another man with the same name. People outside of Gotham City were considerably less familiar with Bruce Wayne, and there was only one other Jonathan Crane within a 20-mile radius of Gotham City. As far Bruce knew, that other Jonathan Crane was a violinist, and he'd invited him to a charity dinner some years back. He was pretty certain this man wasn't the violinist from the way he spoke--even perhaps up to twenty years younger, there was still something about this man's voice that reminded him of the Professor of Fear Gotham that had acquainted the Batman so thoroughly with his favorite area of study.

Still, Bruce couldn't jump to conclusions. He couldn't assume that this Crane would be the same--even remotely so--person he had done background tests and analyses of. Though, if this Crane was anything like the one he knew, Bruce'd be able to gauge something in terms of just how similar the two Cranes were from this man's reaction. The Professor Crane from his world took particular offense from rudeness and disrespect--especially from someone whose life was as easy and carefree as Bruce Wayne's. Crane had never been good with dealing with people, and though he did have it in him to be subtle and cunning...in this kind of place, unless he was planning some kind of covert operation like poisoning the water system (again), Crane had no real reason not to show anger in response to Bruce's behavior.

It did occur fleetingly to Bruce that this was an excellent time to test out the different physical theories regarding alternate dimensions, but instinctively Bruce had a bad feeling about this Crane and his intentions. Well. Nothing to do but to try and see.

Still absent-minded and more than just a little distracted, the fact that his new tablemate had just mentioned "Gotham City" seemed only to hit Bruce Wayne a few seconds after the introduction was made. Snapping to attention immediately, Bruce's head turned sharply to face Crane, eyes wide and betraying his immense relief and surprise.

"W-wai--hold on a sec. Excuse me, but did you just say Gotham? You know Gotham City?"

Bruce kept his expression anxious but hopeful--a look not dissimilar to the one worn by a very lost and very grateful puppy.

[scaredy-crow.livejournal.com]

Wasn't that just like a playboy?

It did irritate him quite a bit that the man seemed to have been ignoring him up until he realized that Crane had mentioned Gotham, but that was the way Bruce apparently acted everywhere.

Crane knew well enough that appearances were deceiving, though. He was far too used to keeping up an act, himself. Give them a significant enough personality difference and most people would be gullible enough to believe that someone couldn't possibly be someone else entirely. Most of society was even gullible enough to believe that even when the pretenses and acts were dropped.

"I would assume we pay them to go through the actions of pretending to do their jobs," he replied, sounding unimpressed with the man's question. "But this isn't Arkham, and there appear to be several other people here who haven't done anything wrong, so I doubt the police had anything to do with it."

Of course, Bruce had to be new here, but Crane was willing to conveniently ignore that for the moment. The most important thing was to find out if the other man was really Batman. If he wasn't, then it was possible that explaining things could net him another ally; and if he was, then there was no way Crane was parting with information that could give him a significant advantage over his enemy.

A little revenge wouldn't hurt at all.

Crane carefully kept his expression neutral when he responded again, as if this was just business as usual. "To answer your question, though, yes, I do know Gotham. I'm from there, in fact." He had to be careful what information he dropped and when. It was possible that Bruce would make the connection between Arkham, Crane, and Ra's al Ghul on his own, so there was no need to verbalize it just yet. Even if he didn't, it could be valuable information later down the road. "I doubt there's a soul alive in Gotham that isn't aware of the prestigious Wayne family's empire or its prodigal son."

[gothamnight.livejournal.com]

Crane had always been intelligent, but, in Batman's experience, not particularly good at maintaining a convincing facade. He hadn't been capable of it; his person was too nervous and ego too large for the Professor to ever truly accept the need to be someone other than himself when it wasn't strictly necessary. This Crane, however...

...the calm demeanor. The rational, articulate speech; the careful way in which he divulged no more information than he needed to continue the conversation. No outwardly visible signs of irritation--only a patient, waiting gaze. They were the eyes of someone who knew exactly what he was doing, and while there was nothing unusual for people to guard their own information in the presence of someone they couldn't trust...

Yes, I do know Gotham. I'm from there, in fact.

Careful. Exceedingly careful. Almost too careful...and again, the tone with which Crane spoke reminded Bruce of a doctor with his patient. There was always the chance that this Crane was even more paranoid than the one he knew; plus, judging from the "prodigal son" remark, this Crane didn't like Bruce Wayne or his behavior any more than the other Crane did. But in that case...

...why was Crane bother seeking out Bruce Wayne to talk at all? If he knew about Bruce from the papers or gossip, then he should've known that Bruce was far from an intelligent conversationalist; granted, even if the other man did take some pleasure out of subtly mocking the rich and slow, that couldn't be a motivating reason. No, this was likely...there was something that Crane wanted...

"Well thank god someone in here isn't completely bonkers," he said, confidence returning and a wide grin breaking out on his face. Leaning forward, Bruce lowered his voice to a conspicuous whisper, "Between me and you? They don't call this a mental institution for nothing. I mean, sure, I'd expected crazy people to, y'know, look the part, or something...but I met these two redheads last night and they'd never even heard of Gotham. And the nurse this morning said it didn't exis--"

He suddenly stopped himself, as if once again noticing the people around them--the uniforms, the weary expressions. Turning, he looked down; his eyes widened as he noticed the same bright yellow smiley face on the shirt Crane was wearing. The exuberant, relieved expression soured into a mixture of shock, horror, and complete confusion.

"Oh no..." he said slowly, to himself, under his breath. Quickly moving back, he made a slightly inconspicuous move at scooting his chair backwards. Aiming a sheepish but visibly very shaken smile at Crane, he opened his mouth as if to say something--then closed it, and tried again.

"I'm--oh gosh, I can't believe this, but--I'm so sorry. Really, I...I didn't realize that you are, uh...one of them."

[scaredy-crow.livejournal.com]

His trying to be obnoxious and chatty was an excellent mask, really, and the man appeared to be a very good actor. It was becoming increasingly obvious that if he wanted hard evidence, then Crane would have to keep an eye out at night and see if anyone began mentioning Batman wandering around at night.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he really wasn't Batman, but Crane was going to stick with his conviction until it was proven wrong. He was already getting another idea of how to go about it, and he needed to let Harley know.

Crane snorted at Bruce's final comment, though. In a way it was true, but that didn't mean that he couldn't find it just a bit annoying. "No offense taken, don't worry. So long as you're dressed like that, however," he said in a slightly exasperated tone, pointing at Bruce's own uniform, "you're one of them, as well."

While he still intended to not reveal more than he had to, Crane was also willing to adapt to an opportunity that he saw. There were certain pieces of information that he couldn't help but use, but if given with several pieces of fake information...

Well, that could be well worth it, so long as he presented it properly.

"I do, however, advise against listening to the nurses past being shuffled around during the day. As you've seen, they're useless. At least they do their job well enough to keep watch over us all the time. They have cameras in our rooms, but still have enough patients trying to escape at night that they've taken to electrocuting a third of the doors on a rotational basis."

If only that were true, morality be damned. Were it not for the lawyers and other city officials who tended to come through Arkham to speak with patients, he might have wanted to have that done there, as well.

[gothamnight.livejournal.com]

"Me? One of--oh," Bruce said, eyes widening with understanding before narrowing, annoyed.

"Right. The shirt. Atrocious things. I tell you, the instant my lawyer gets here and the paperwork's settled, I'll make personally sure that all the uniforms in this place are replaced. It's a nasty business, these 'medical' institutions--but it's just plain bad for its image when its patients are walking around like this."

There were no visible cameras in the rooms--not last night, and not this morning. Crane himself had just said that the nurses were "useless," so it was unlikely that the staff would treat Crane any differently from the other patients in terms of disclosing useful information. Similarly, Bruce doubted his story about the electrocuted doors. No matter how different this Crane was from Bruce's own, he was no Lyle Bolton. Crane lacked the expertise to be able to deduce locations of secret cameras and bugs on his own. Bruce would go and confirm his suspicions by talking to some other patients later on in the day, but meanwhile...

Crane was lying. And Bruce wanted to know why.

Under usual circumstances, Bruce might've assumed that Crane was simply toying with Bruce Wayne: exaggerate the horrors of the Institute just to see how he'd react. Still, the manner in which he'd said it...it was if he didn't expect Bruce wouldn't try and check the information with other patients. Like he hoped Bruce would use the false warnings. Like he thought the information would actually interest Bruce Wayne on a level deeper than simple blind acceptance and horror.

"Electrocuting the doors? Wow. Sounds like they take security pretty seriously, then." While Bruce's voice was a bit surprised, there was no more emotion in it than there would have been if their conversation had been about a break-up

"Well, at least it provides you with an incentive to get out of here, right, Mr.--"

He stopped, as if just realizing something.

"--uh, sorry. I don't think I caught your name...?"