damned_institute | Day 37: Men's Showers

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Day 37: Men's Showers

I wouldn't really call this a locker room. More like a bathroom with lockers. The place was uncomfortably crowded, with almost every adult male patient being hustled into the showers at once, but Phoenix wasn't as annoyed by the claustrophobic, milling throng of bodies as he might have otherwise been. Every extra person was one more person who might end up standing between himself and Edgeworth.

He knew that the prosecutor would have a fit if he found out about this. He'd known since he'd tacked that first response up on the bulletin board. And in a way, he couldn't blame him. Phoenix knew that he jumped into things all-or-nothing more often than most people. At the same time, he had some kind of reality testing. He wasn't going to learn the basics of how to defend himself and suddenly decide that he was Rambo.

He found an unoccupied locker in the southwest corner and glanced around, trying to gauge how long he could possibly stall in a locker room, looking as if he was expecting something, before people started looking at him strangely. It would have been easier if he'd known something of the description of the man he was supposed to be meeting. As it was, all he had was handwriting and a military rank, neither of which guaranteed any particular appearance.

It's not as if there was a better way to plan this, though. "Yeah, meet me by the lockers. I'll be wearing gray and a smiley face, just like about a hundred other guys."

[for Hughes]

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"Right," Wally said, his smile becoming more forced now that Bats was just continuing to insist that he was just Bruce Wayne.

Wait... 'magic-alternate-universe mumbo-jumbo'? Then, was this Bruce from an alternate dimension too, like Clark was? Except it was one where he was the right age and look and everything. Sure he was doing that whole billionaire playboy act, but that was what Bruce Wayne was known for. Even if Wally hadn't ever met Bats when he wasn't, well, Bats with or without the mask, he knew that. And it wasn't like Wally hadn't already had some experience with a different version of Batman. Obviously this wasn't the same one - he'd have known who Wally was, then started doing that creepy stare thing - but maybe he also came from someplace where there wasn't a Flash.

"My bad, you've said 'hi' the few times we've worked together, so I guessed I thought you might remember me. I helped out with a few of your last minute, late night projects," he continued, managing a laugh to try and hide how tense the whole situation was making him. "You really don't remember?"

That put a whole different spin on things, and Wally was hoping that Bruce would at least give him some sign that he knew what was meant by those 'late night projects'. The thought that this Bruce might not be the Batman... it was just weird. Like Central City's orphans not looking forward to his visits or Gotham not being full of crazy people. Well okay, maybe that last one could be a good thing, but not the first.

Wally sighed, good mood draining away with the water washing over him. Automatically he went through the motions of bathing, working shampoo into his hair on autopilot while he tried to figure out what to do next.

The running water was rapidly becoming an advantage instead of a hindrance. Bruce was hardly thinking of his wounds now that this new situation came up, and the fact that the spray of water distracted from his face was definitely a good thing now that this Wally had mentioned “late-night projects.” Bruce’s suspicions solidified as he watched the strang—West.

He learned long ago not to trust people based on appearances, but how a person spoke and behaved on the outside more often than not gave something away about what was inside. There was something genuine about Wally West—his face read like a book. Where had been relief and gladness was now replaced by disappointment and anxiety; the disappointment could be explained any number of ways, but the tenseness…It felt like something was hanging in the air between them, and Bruce had a good idea about what it was.

He was tired, yes—Wally’d caught Bruce at a time when he couldn’t vouch confidently for his judgment. So he forced himself to start from the beginning again, working through all the reasons he had to trust that Wally West had once worked with Batman, and somehow, knew his secret identity. Granted, it could be that, despite his normal solitary lifestyle, after his conversation with Crane Bruce was feeling rather badly in need of an ally—or, at least, someone he could trust not to bite off his head the instant he lowered his guard. He knew nothing more about Wally West or the world he came from than he’d known about Crane’s world, or Donna’s or Grell’s. But Bruce’s instincts told him that Wally was someone he could trust—the man had given his trust to Bruce so easily, after all, even going so far as to trust Bruce to be able to “find him” and rescue him from this kind of place. And then there was that look of defeat when he’d realized Bruce wasn’t the Bruce he knew…

“Late-night projects…” Bruce said slowly, dropping the light tenor in favor of a voice closer to the one he used as Batman. The water was loud enough so that most of the sounds would be muffled; so long as he altered his voice and not his countenance, those nearby wouldn’t pay him any mind.

“…hm. Come to think of it, maybe I have seen you around—not that we really spoke. I seem to remember something about a costume party…tights, even.”

Wally closed his eyes as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, still trying to figure out what he'd do if this Bruce wasn't Batman, and how he'd find out that for certain. After all, if this Bats didn't know Wally West - maybe 'cause there wasn't a Flash where he was from or maybe 'cause they just hadn't learned each others names - then he'd probably be trying to keep the whole thing to himself. He'd have to find out a way to know for certain...

But then Bruce's voice changed a little, becoming the more serious tone he was familiar with, the one that he could clearly remember saying things like 'Flash, don't touch that'. Wally's reaction was immediate, as a huge, relieved smile spread across his face and he laughed, tension vanishing as the good mood had before it.

"Yeah, that was me alright. But I thought the costume looked good on me! Red's always been my colour," he said lightly, pushing wet hair out of his eyes and giving Bruce an amused wink. "Besides, you know us Central guys are pretty proud of our local hero."

Automatically Wally reach out to try and lean companionably on Bruce's shoulder. It had been nearly four days since he'd seen anyone from the League after all - not including the impostor Lantern from yesterday - and even if Bruce was trying to be careful or whatever, he needed some kind of reassurance that things were going to be okay. That Batman had a plan and things would be back to normal in no time.

'Cause there was just no way Batman didn't know how to get out of this place.

The beaming smile and laugh caught Bruce a bit off guard: he hadn’t been expecting such an unabashed, unguarded reaction to the change in voice. The troubled expression was gone entirely, replaced by a look of utter trust and warm regard. Bruce’s eyes widened a bit involuntarily as he understood the significance of Wally’s behavior; not only had West interacted more extensively with the Batman than with Bruce Wayne, but he actually held the Batman in high confidence. The summarizing word was trust: if Bruce didn’t already have enough evidence to confirm that West trusted the Batman with not only his friendship but his life, he certainly got more of it when the man responded cheekily to his “costume party” comment by giving away his secret identity.

A local hero from Central City who wore a red costume. West couldn’t have made his identity clearer to Bruce if he’d simply screamed “I AM THE FLASH!” from the rooftops. Bruce hoped sincerely that, as a costumed superhero, the Flash was usually much more careful with how and to whom he disclosed information, and that he was simply so glad to see “Bats” that he’d forgotten to be cautious.

Seeing that the man’s costume was red and his arch-nemeses included Captain Boomerang, the Mirror Master, and a man who shot green, acidic mucus from a “snotgun”...somehow, Bruce doubted it.

“Right…too bad a flashy guy of his sort wouldn’t make it in Gotham, huh?” Bruce said, smile unwavering but voice lowering almost completely into the one he used as Batman.

“At least, not with that psychotic bat around.”

If Batman was the one West trusted, then so long as it wasn’t overly risky, Bruce would do what was in his power to assure the man of the reality of the Bat’s presence. West’s optimistic personality would take some getting used to, no doubt—Bruce felt a bit awkward and exposed, caught between both of his personas like this, but if Wally was one of the other Batman’s enemies, he was either an amazing actor or a complete psycho. Either way, it was too late to change what he’d done. What he’d offered.

He had to learn to trust Wally West.

…He didn’t, however, have to learn to let Wally West touch him, and when West leaned forward to do so, Bruce couldn’t help but step back a bit. Nothing personal—simply an instinctive move. Granted, he should have seen it coming that West’d be the touchy sort.

Okay, so it was a little weird seeing Bats smiling while still sounding like, well, Bats, but Wally was relieved enough that he could overlook that. Bats must have put two and two together after all and figured out who Wally was, which meant that there was a Flash wherever he was from which would make things a lot easier. It was a bit odd that Bats hadn't already known Wally's secret identity, seeing as he'd been the one to out the three of them to each other way back when the Thanagarians had invaded, but maybe he just... hadn't gotten around to that yet.

The train of thought was starting to lead to uncomfortable territory about time travel and messing with the future and he was pretty sure that if this Bats came from his own past, they probably shouldn't have been talking at all, but... It was Batman, and Wally really, really needed to know that he had a close and trusted friend to talk to here.

"Probably not," Wally agreed with a chuckle. "But he could swing by sometime and give the bat a run for his money, right? Or anyone else in the Justice League for that matter," he added.

The smile faltered when Bruce moved away from the contact though. He hadn't expected him to move. Well, he had but Bats normally let it last for at least a few seconds before moving away - Wally had a private theory that the time was getting slightly longer each time, but wasn't game to time it in case he had to explain what he was doing - he didn't just avoid it altogether.

Wally stumbled, balance thrown off now that Bruce had moved, and came down heavily on his sore knee. The action sent a stab of pain through the joint, enough to make him yelp and jerk backwards, while his other foot slipped on the water-slick tiles and he, having apparently run out of other options, fell over.

Justice League? Bruce had never heard of the Justice League before, but judging by the way West had so casually referred to it, the existence of such an organization was common knowledge in his world. Bruce paused for a minute to think carefully, noting the…well, not exactly familiarity of the phrase, but…the familiarity of the idea it seemed to represent. ‘Anyone else in the Justice League.’ Likely an organized group of superheroes, who worked together to fight crime and save the world from imminent destruction.

…come to think of it, Bruce could recall a particular conversation with Clark, in which Superman’d mentioned the possibility of the world’s superheroes organizing to be able to fight the bigger problems. Bruce could also recall shooting the idea down, saying something about it being dangerous to gather together the most powerful individuals in the world and trust them not to abuse their collective might. His other argument had been that aside from a single shared goal, none of the superheroes were used to working in teams; most of them were leader-types, with dominant, independent personalities. He could remember Clark dropping the subject with what Bruce had thought was silent agreement.

But that could have changed.

…a group of superheroes working together. That would explain how Batman and Wally met, as well as why Bruce had never heard of Wally West until today. While he did make an effort to keep track of the other superheroes in the world and their activities, there were a few reasons why aside from gathering general information about their personalities, whereabouts, and activities, the Batman didn’t invest too much time to uncovering their secret identities. One, Batman had Gotham, and the other heroes had their cities: so long as their paths didn’t cross, there was no real reason to know anything more about them asides from hypothetical ways to stop them in case they went rogue. Two, there were frankly better things the Batman could be doing with his time, and if the other heroes were even half as careful as he was in regards to his personal life it investigating their identities would involve not only extensive amounts of time and patience, but also frequent or prolonged trips to their cities. And three, strange as it was, it seemed almost an unspoken rule that superheroes wouldn’t probe too closely into each others’ lives unless strictly necessary. A sort of respect, given from one crime-fighter to another.

If they had to work with each other on a regular basis, however, then it’d be Batman’s responsibility to find out who those people were, and what sort of backgrounds had led them to don masks. Alternatively, if it’d been the Flash that’d stumbled upon Bruce’s secret first, then the need to be on equal footing with the other hero would have driven him to discover the other man’s identity anyway. While Bruce had every intention of getting the entire story out of West sometime soon, he felt more reassured knowing the reasons behind why the Flash and the Batman had become all—

—Bruce’s train of thought was broken when West missed Bruce’s body and fell forward. Bruce reached out automatically to catch the man, but by the time he’d processed what he was doing it was already too late. West was on the floor in a position that looked incredibly painful for his injured leg. Bruce knelt instantly beside him, scanning the man’s body cursorily for any obvious signs of reopened wounds or serious damage.

“Are you alright?” he asked, using his natural voice, “I’m sorry—I forgot you were injured, and…moved. Automatically.”

He checked their surroundings for any sign of a concerned friend or someone willing to lend a hand. There was no one.

“Here,” he said, taking one of West’s arms and draping it around his shoulder. He tried to keep the arm some distance from the heaviest of the wounds on his neck and back, but the contact couldn’t be helped. There was no way West could pull himself up or reach for the crutch; Bruce would have to help him.

“Lean on me,” he commanded, wrapping an arm around West’s waist and supporting his torso with his other hand.

“Are you done with the shower? Wet tile isn't the best surface for someone with trouble walking, so it’d be best if we dried off and got outside.”

"I'll be okay," Wally said, wincing despite himself as Bruce helped him to his feet. "Wasn't expecting you to avoid me like that is all," he said, managing to keep most of the hurt tone from his voice. He fumbled around for his crutch but gave up as his foot slipped and threatened to dump him on the ground - or at least onto Bats - again.

"Yeah, I guess I'm done now. I probably should have let the nurse lend me a hand when she offered, but I figured if anyone was going to help me wash, it should be one of the cute nurses, right?"

The command got the same reaction that pretty much anything Bats said in that voice did: a quick nod of understanding and compliance. Too many times that voice had ordered something that had been the difference between spending the time after a mission in the medical bay or being able to go out and celebrate, so he'd learned to try and do what it said as often as possible. Of course, right now things weren't quite so dangerous, but the principle was the same.

Wally gratefully transferred his weight onto Bruce's shoulders, doing his best to avoid whatever injuries must have been under those bandages. Unfortunately the contact reminded him of something that had managed to slip his notice so far, which was that they were both a) wet, and b) naked, which suddenly made his whole enthusiastic greeting of Bats really awkward. Not to mention Wally couldn't exactly go with his normal instincts here, which would have been to crack a joke or seven along with some harmless flirting. Trying to imagine harmless flirting with the Batman, especially like this, just made part of his brain freeze up in panic.

Instead he just went with the first thing on his mind, which turned out to be: "Geez, you've got a lot of scars."

He blinked, not his best choice, but at least it hadn't been a pick-up line. "I mean, I know why you've got them, but I didn't know you'd have so many. Not that I've been trying to look or anything now. Or ever. It's just... yeah, you've got some really big ones too. Scars I mean." Don't look. Don't look. And try just this once not to say anything stupid. More stupid than you already have that is, he told himself frantically. There were some things about his teammates that Wally really didn't think he could cope with knowing.

"Uh. So. I'm just gonna get dried and put on some clothes." Really looking like a good idea right now. "Then did you wanna meet up in the Sun Room?"

“…sorry,” Bruce said, keeping his voice low. Catching the note of hurt in West’s voice, he found himself feeling genuinely contrite for having stepped away. Logically, he knew it wasn’t his fault that Wally fell; from Bruce’s perspective, they were merely acquaintances, while for Wally, they were trusted teammates and, apparently, close enough so as to feel comfortable with casual touches.

Bruce half-listened to the Flash’s flippant comments about the nurses, wondering to himself what sort of memories the Flash held of the Batman, and what experiences they had shared together. As Bruce thought and Wally talked, Bruce navigated the two of them slowly and surely out of the showers, stopping to grab Wally’s crutch and taking it with them as they walked. Luckily, most everyone in the showers was too preoccupied to pay them much attention, so Bruce felt comfortable guiding the Flash’s movements with short, stern commands like “turn,” “bend,” and “walk” in his normal voice.

Bruce’s mind was already conjuring up reasons for Bruce Wayne and Wally West to associate with each other on a regular basis and where they could find enough privacy to talk properly when its thoughts were disrupted by Wally’s comment about Bruce’s scars. Turning his head to look at Wally, Bruce noticed finally that the other man’s gaze had been studiously avoiding certain parts of their bodies while being focused on other parts—namely, the parts of Bruce’s body that were the most deeply scarred. Perhaps he should have said something in response, seeing as Wally was evidently feeling a bit embarrassed that he’d even mentioned the scars to begin with. The truth was, however…that Bruce honestly didn’t know what to say. Wally knew the truth behind Bruce Wayne’s regular injuries, so he couldn’t laugh them off as a joke or sporting accident. And as a topic of conversation, the scars’ gruesome origins meant too much for Bruce to trivialize. The last thing Bruce wanted was to make the Flash uncomfortable by delving into territory either too light or too dark: silence was safer. And so he said nothing, though he did shoot a strange, perhaps overly intense look at the man.

“…it’s fine,” he said, though it was unclear to which statement he was replying.

“Will you need help drying? Even if you don’t, it might be better if we stuck together. I’m new, remember?” His voice was a bit lighter then it was just a few sentences previous—in fact, by the time they’d arrived at the drying area, Bruce’s face was already schooled into a blandly good-natured expression.

“I need to change back, too,” he said with a smile. “So we might as well do it together, right?”

Well that had been the perfect way to amp the awkward factor of the situation all the way up to eleven. It was times like this that Wally wished that his power came with the ability to have something smack him upside the head before he said anything too stupid. But then that would probably have been happening almost every time he opened his mouth it seemed like.

And now Bats was giving him one of those intense, unreadable looks that he had sometimes. That had to be because this one hadn't known him long enough to have invented the 'Flash, stop being an idiot' look. But Bats being Bats, he'd pick it up in no time.

"What? Oh, no! Uh, I mean, I can handle it. Really," Wally insisted, all the while hoping desperately that the burning feeling on his cheeks wasn't from him blushing almost as bright a red as his hair. The last thing he needed right now was Batman giving him a hand drying himself and getting dressed. If that happened, he'd probably just drop dead on the spot from embarrassment, and the crazy head doctor wouldn't have to lift a finger.

Not wanting to prolong things any further than necessary, Wally pulled away from Bruce and took a couple of small, limping steps to the relative safety of a dry towel. Not that it offered much by way of actual 'protection', but it was the thought that mattered.

"If I need any help, I'll ask for a cute nurse," he tossed over his shoulder as he set to work carefully drying around his bandaged knee. "Besides, if anyone sees you helping me get dressed, they'll get the wrong idea or something, and I doubt Bruce Wayne is the type to, you know, play for the other team?"

Wal—West practically fled, blushing almost as red as his hair. His sudden change in attitude surprised Bruce until he realized that most people would be uncomfortable with a near-stranger offering to help them with a usually-solitary activity like drying or bathing. Bruce himself had never been particularly self-conscious of his body—perhaps a product of his upbringing. Even when he was little there’d always been Alfred to draw him baths, help dress him, and—in the past few years—stitch up his wounds and bandage them. Were the very scars the Flash’d been staring at minutes ago not so damning, Bruce Wayne wouldn’t be nearly so reluctant to undress in front of others—though, admittedly, he too would have to draw the line at a stranger touching him extensively without a significant enough reason. As such, he didn’t press his point and instead grabbed a towel, drying himself off with a careless expression while in fact wondering whether West’s reference to homosexuality was strictly necessary.
“Point taken,” he said with a chuckle, wiping his leg off with firm, quick strokes before drying the wounded areas more gingerly. He’d have to get them disinfected again later on, but not now. No matter how “cute” the nurse was, there were things he needed to ask Wally.

“Too bad the nurses aren’t as fun as the ones in Gotham General. They get all weird and stiff when I start asking them about Institute stuff. I’m starting to get the sense that the flirting works better when they don’t think you’re crazy.”

Wally relaxed and even laughed lightly at the talk about the nurses. Actually being naked in the same room as others, even if it was Bats, didn't bother him so much - he wore bright red, skintight spandex for crying out loud, that kind of thing didn't leave much to the imagination - but touching put things in a whole different ballpark.

"Yeah, you try making some kind of joke or something with some of the nurses, and they look like they've been snacking on lemons in their spare time. Think they practice that look?" Sure, it was weird hearing Bats sound all upbeat and happy, but it made sense that he would try and keep his identity hidden. Wally was just going to have to get used to hearing Bruce talking as Bruce Wayne, rather than Batman.

"So anyway, this is your first day, right? Anything you need extra info on or something?" he offered. The more information Bats had, the better the chance he'd have a plan to get them out of here. One that would probably work a lot better than Wally's last attempt anyway. He finished drying off with no major problems, noticing that the dragonfly bites on his back and ankle seemed to be almost completely healed. About time, really. Normally his powers would have accelerated the healing and they'd have been gone days ago. His knee would have been healed by this too, but it looked as though he was going to have to put up with the crutch a little longer.

With a sigh, Wally awkwardly bent to retrieve his clothing and set about trying to figure out the mechanics of dressing himself without putting too much weight on or bending his leg more than necessary as he waited for Bruce's answer.

“I think I’ve got the basics down,” he said as casually if he were learning to play a new card game. Bruce reached for his own clothes and pulled the underwear and pants on while watching Wally deal with his own situation. The other man still hadn’t finished when Bruce was fully dressed, and as he waited Bruce couldn’t help but try to identify the Flash’s injuries. The bite marks had an unusual shape—made by some kind of insect, and judging from their locations, it was a flying insect. The insect was probably not venomous, or else the wounds would’ve been much more serious; on the other hand, they were large and vicious. The source of the Flash’s leg injury was the extensive damage around the knee area: torn but healing flesh. Bruce made a mental note to see if there was any sort of information regarding the types of monsters at the Institute—perhaps the bats last night had not been so much as an ironical coincidence as he’d thought.

There was one more thing bothering Bruce. The wounds on the Flash looked old—like they’d been healing for about a day or two already. If Bruce could recall correctly, one of the side-benefits of the Flash’s super-speed was the accelerated rates of all cellular functions, including regeneration and repair. In that case...why was Wally injured at all? While the wounds looked nasty, they seemed to be flesh wounds—not so serious that the Flash couldn’t have them healed already.

Perhaps there was some sort of venom involved then—either that, or something was affecting the Flash’s super-abilities. Now that Bruce thought of it, he doubted the Institute would admit superpowered individuals without some sort of guarantee that those individuals wouldn’t just use their powers to destroy the place and its people. The chances that whoever was in charge had some sort of method to tamper with or alter powers was...highly probable, though Bruce couldn’t even begin to imagine the technology he or she’d have to possess in order to affect so many people in such a large range.

“Stuck in a mental institute, people from parallel universes, experiments, monsters trying to eat me. Still shaky on the actual mechanics and locations in this place and what kind of stuff people’ve tried to get out.”

He paused, then thought of what he’d seen on the Bulletin board.

“Knowing a little bit more about the people here’d help too, I think. I mean, all the club business and who’s in charge and knows this or whatever. Anything you could tell me would help, basically.”

Bruce disguised the urgency behind his words with a nonchalant tone, but the insincere look of apathy on his face stole away when Wally finished and looked up again. A more genuine look of dryness replaced it, and as Bruce offered the crutch back to Wally and the two started to move towards the Sun Room, he surprised himself by how much more comfortable he felt now as opposed to before.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/510510.html?thread=41519406#t41519406)]

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Day 37: Men's Showers

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