Two weeks passed.
Not gracefully.
Time in Arkham moved like glue: slow, sticky, vaguely poisonous. Every day smelled like metal and disinfectant. Every night sounded like muffled screaming and the rhythmic thud of someone kicking a cell door—sometimes for hours. Elias learned to tune it out the way one learns to tune out thunder: by pretending it's just background noise, not a reminder that the world is unhinged.
Bruce Wayne visited him every other day.
Not as Batman.
But Bruce Wayne without the mask was somehow worse. Batman glared like a predator. Bruce watched like a surgeon.
Two days after the "warm hand" test, Bruce returned. He stood behind the glass partition, arms folded, saying nothing for long enough that Elias asked:
"…Do you want something, or is this just the world's most intimidating staring contest?"
Bruce answered without looking up from the tablet in his hand. "Your stress response has stabilized. The spikes are less erratic."
"Cool. Great. Does that mean I can graduate from this… lovely hospitality?"
"No."
Figures.
Then came the fourth day. Another visit. Bruce had Harleen check Elias's blood pressure, cortisol levels, electrical nervous activity. Machines hummed, pinged, argued with each other about what Elias even was.
On the sixth day, Bruce made him repeat the calm-breathing rule three times in a row. Elias nearly passed out from backlash.
On the eighth, Bruce had him warm his hand again—first the left, then the right. Elias noticed Bruce's eyes narrow when the right hand heated more quickly.
On the tenth, Bruce asked him a question he did not like:
"What were you thinking before the shockwave?"
Elias froze. His internal monologue sprinted in circles.
Do I tell him I panicked so hard reality folded like a cheap lawn chair?No.Yes?He's BRUCE WAYNE. He'll know if I lie. He literally has a degree in lie-detecting eyeball lasers.
"I… don't know," Elias muttered. "I just didn't want to die."
Bruce studied him for too long. "Fear can trigger your power. But intention shapes it."
Elias blinked. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Bruce said quietly, "that this ability of yours isn't random. It follows impulses. Instinct. Will."
"Well that's terrifying."
"Yes."
Bruce didn't even blink.
By the twelfth day, Harleen had begun smiling at him more, offering him actual conversation. Edward Nashton tried to ask him riddles through the wall. Jack Oswald White once hummed to him for an hour. That was… horrifying on a spiritual level.
But Bruce remained constant.
Measured.
Predictable in the most unpredictable way.
He arrived every other day, down to the hour. Clipboard or tablet. Questions sharpened like surgical instruments. Watching Elias as if trying to assemble a puzzle where half the pieces were intangible.
And on the fourteenth day—
Everything changed.
It began with Bruce stepping into the room himself.
No partition. No glass. No guards.
Just him.
His presence filled the sterile space. Even in civilian clothing, even silent, he felt like carved stone with intent.
"Elias," Bruce said. "Pack your things."
Elias blinked. "Things? What things? I have, like… a gown and trauma."
"You're leaving Arkham."
Elias blinked harder. "Wait—what? Why?"
"Arkham is not an appropriate environment. It's not secure enough, and you're not a criminal."
Elias stared at him.
That… was the closest thing to kindness Bruce had said in two weeks.
"I don't—where am I going?"
"My home."
Elias swallowed. His thoughts sparked.
Bruce Wayne. Billionaire. Mansion larger than most city blocks. Possibly haunted by wealth. Possibly also haunted by bats.
"…Is this real?" Elias whispered.
"Yes," Bruce said. "Let's go."
Well. Okay then.
The drive was quiet.
Too quiet.
Elias sat in the back of a sleek black car (because of course Bruce Wayne didn't drive anything less than an obsidian panther with wheels). His wrists were free—first time in two weeks. He kept flexing his fingers, half expecting the restraints to clang back into place.
Bruce drove himself.
Which was weird. Didn't billionaires have drivers? But maybe he didn't want witnesses. Or maybe Bruce Wayne just liked control.
Trees blurred past. The city receded. The countryside stretched out like a breath.
Eventually, the manor came into view.
Wayne Manor.
It rose from the hillside like an old cathedral—stone arches, tall windows, chimneys like watchtowers. Grand in a way that felt less rich and more ancient. Like if you listened closely enough, you'd hear old secrets whispering beneath the walls.
They parked at the front steps.
When Elias stepped out, the breeze hit him—cold, crisp, honest. No disinfectant. No screams. Just quiet.
And standing at the top of the steps was a tall man in a formal suit, posture impeccable, eyes sharp.
Alfred.
Of course.
"Master Bruce," Alfred said with a small bow. "Welcome home."
Then Alfred's gaze shifted to Elias. Not judgmental. Not alarmed. Just… assessing.
"And this must be our guest."
Elias raised a small hand. "Hi. Um. Sorry in advance for being… here?"
Alfred smiled politely. "We've had far worse."
"Comforting," Elias muttered.
Bruce placed a hand on Elias's shoulder. "Alfred will show you your room."
"Yes," Alfred said. "If you'll follow me, sir."
Sir.Wow. That word felt too big for him.
He walked behind Alfred through halls lined with portraits and marble pillars. The manor was cavernous, but warm. Every corner felt curated, lived in, quietly guarded.
Eventually Alfred opened a large guest room.
"This will be yours," Alfred said. "Should you need anything—food, water, reassurance that you are not, in fact, in danger—you may ring the bell."
"There's a reassurance bell?"
"Every bell in this manor is a reassurance bell, sir."
Elias actually laughed.
For the first time in weeks, the air didn't feel like it was crushing him.
He slept that night in a real bed. Soft sheets. Blankets that didn't smell like bleach. A pillow that wasn't plastic-coated for "safety."
He didn't realize how exhausted he'd been until he passed out almost instantly.
It was the first dreamless sleep he'd had since arriving in this world.
He woke before dawn.
A soft knock.
He sat up, throat dry. "Hello?"
The door opened. Bruce stood there, wearing dark clothes—almost black, but not the suit. More… tactical.
"Get dressed," Bruce said. "We're leaving."
Elias blinked, brain lagging. "Is something wrong?"
"No. But what I'm about to show you must never be repeated. Not to Alfred. Not to Harleen. Not to anyone."
Elias slid out of bed, heart thumping.
"Why me?" he whispered.
Bruce's gaze didn't soften. But something in it shifted—like the faintest acknowledgment of trust.
"Because you need context," Bruce said. "And because you're too dangerous not to understand the world you've landed in."
A chill ran down Elias's spine.
He dressed quickly—clothes Alfred had left: dark jeans, soft shirt, a hoodie. It felt strange not to be wearing a hospital gown. It felt almost normal.
Bruce led him through the manor's halls, but instead of heading upstairs or outside, he took a turn down a side corridor Elias hadn't noticed. The walls grew narrower, more utility-focused.
They stopped at an old grandfather clock.
Bruce placed his hand on it.
The clock clicked.
Shifted.
Opened.
And revealed a descending staircase swallowed in darkness.
Elias stared.
Internal monologue screamed:
OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I'M GOING INTO THE CAVE THE CAVE THE CAVEEE—
Bruce stepped inside. "Stay close."
Elias followed.
The descent was long. Cold. The air changed gradually—less like a home, more like stone and earth and old machinery humming somewhere deep below.
When they finally reached the bottom—
The world opened.
The Batcave spread out before him like a cathedral carved into the bones of the earth. Platforms suspended over chasms. Waterfalls plunging from cracks in the ceiling. The hum of computers, engines, security systems. A giant penny. A dinosaur.
It was overwhelming. Beautiful. Terrifying.
Elias whispered without permission from his brain:"Holy… crap."
Bruce didn't react. He walked forward with purpose, leading Elias to a platform where a large cylindrical tunnel stood—sleek metal, wide enough to fit several people. A mechanical iris sealed one end.
Elias pointed. "What is that?"
"A Zeta Tube," Bruce said. "Teleportation system. League-grade."
Elias blinked. "League as in…?"
Bruce turned to him fully.
"Yes," he said simply. "The Justice League."
Elias swallowed thickly. "And you're taking me there?"
Bruce studied him for a long moment—gauging nervousness, instability, preparedness.
"You need evaluation," Bruce said. "Not as a criminal. As a potential risk—"His jaw tightened."—or potential responsibility."
Elias hesitated. "I… don't know if I should be near superheroes. Or… anyone."
"That's exactly why we're going."
Bruce stepped into the Zeta Tube.
Elias's heart did a flip.
Okay. Okay. Reality-warping powers, fine. Arkham, fine. Wayne Manor, fine. But entering a teleportation beam with Batman? Was this where he accidentally rewrites the atmosphere? Or teleports his lungs into a black hole?
He stepped in after Bruce.
The iris closed behind them with a hiss.
The tunnel hummed, lights flickering to life overhead.
"Stand still," Bruce instructed.
"That's a terrible thing to say to someone who might explode by accident."
"You won't."
"You sound very confident for someone who's seen me glitch the air—"
The Zeta Tube activated.
A pillar of brilliant white-blue energy shot upward, wrapping around them. The air vibrated. Elias's bones vibrated. His thoughts vibrated. For a split second he felt as if his atoms stretched across a thousand miles and snapped back like rubber.
Then the light cut.
Silence.
The air smelled different—cleaner, colder, edged with ozone.
Elias blinked rapidly, spots dancing in his vision.
Shapes stood in front of him.
Large shapes.
Powerful shapes.
Figures he recognized even with blurred eyes—capes, armor, silhouettes carved into memory by comics, cartoons, and impossible fate.
The Justice League.
His breath hitched.
Internal monologue went nuclear:
OH NO.OH NO OH NO OH NO.I AM GOING TO DIE OF ANXIETY BEFORE ANYONE VILLAINOUS EVEN TOUCHES ME.
Bruce stepped forward once.
"Elias," he said quietly, "welcome to the Watchtower."
Elias swallowed.