Bruce is still just hiding in the corner of the room. Dick sighs and looks at him concerned.
"Kid it's alright." He says but Bruce looks away and doesn't speak.
"I'm afraid Bruce was rather quiet at this age Master Dick." Alfred said and Bruce looked at him and then away again.
There are people in the house.
They laugh and walk through the halls. They chat in the kitchen and practice flips and karate moves. Bruce doesn't interact with them. Sometimes he'll watch them from around a doorframe and one of them will notice him and he'll disappear again.
They say they're from the future. They're supposed to be friends of his. But he doesn't believe it. He doesn't have any friends. Even if he did, he can't maintain friends anyway. They're probably relieved that the real him is gone. The grown up one.
The blue one keeps trying to invite him into activities with them. He's kind. It's terrifying. He avoids him the most.
The red one just looks at him with quiet understanding but doesn't try to approach. It's nice. He looks sad. Bruce wishes he could make him happier, but he doesn't know him. He's probably the reason he's sad in the first place.
Other then that it's mostly normal. He usually would spend a little more time with Alfred, maybe baking cookies or something. But mostly he's used to being alone. He goes to look out of the windows of the manor. Sometimes he'll read. On the rare days when the tv rooms are free, he'll sit down and let Alfred put on his favourite cartoon for him. He could watch those for hours. He hides in his blanket when the others walk in and hopes they don't notice him.
"Bruce?" The blue one asks and he pulls the blanket up higher grumbling angrily.
"Do you want a grilled cheese later? Or tomato soup?" He asked and Bruce feels anxiety spike in his chest. He doesn't know. Making choices is hard.
"Bruce?" The guy asks again gently and Bruce covers his ears and starts rocking back and forth. He feels like all his scattered thoughts and feelings start to wrap around him and he feels a little more whole.
"Oh gosh, sorry." Dick says and Jason nudges him.
"Dude, don't ask him questions."
"Sorry I didn't realise. Wait. Why not though." He mumbles to himself confused and Jason shrugs.
"That's just how he is." He says and Dick looks at him, feeling like he's missing a piece of the puzzle.
You've been stuck on this planet you could not pronounce. Its residents mysterious and elusive as ever; their forms unconforming and strange. They reminded you of brittle stars or siphonophores who drifted into the air as if it were the ocean waves instead.
The air was thin and hard to breathe, you were forced to having to take deep breaths and careful steps amongst the terrain that was unbelievably moist and smooth as if was drenched from an ancient flood eons ago...
You could easily slip and die.
Suffocate from the sparkling blue mud that twinkled underneath your every step like a velvet carpet. You only found solace in some rocks that shielded you from the winds that sliced your skin, almost literally, when you see small cuts of blood daring to pool out of the small crevices.
That's how life here went for you.
You watched, waited, and hoped.
You watched those aliens float through the air like fish as if you were stuck at the bottom of the sea. Or perhaps they were birds instead. And as you stared up at the atmosphere where you could see the neighbor planet's magnificent colors and rings; you waited. For help to come to you, waiting for your fellow human comrades to come rescue your predicament.
But hope.
Hope was something you kept close to your chest like a deck of cards. It was the only thing keeping you awake at night and alive every day; it was the thing that convinced to keep eating those weird algae clumps found in those shallow tide pools and drink the crystal clear water that you hoped was safe. It was the thing that told you everything is okay, wait it out, this will be a story you will laugh off after a few years.
But it waned every day.
Day by day, you began to grow hopeless, almost succumbing to the whims of your dying sanity and the constant, repetitive colors of this planet that was permanently made of dark algae greens and neon oceanic blues. You felt like you were going blind when you stared at the cool colors, you felt like your vision was going red and pink, you were seeing things you shouldn't be seeing. And feelings things you shouldn't be–
You saw "him."
At least, you thought it was a "he."
He who you funnily called "Cthulhu" to save your sanity. (The nickname didn't last long)
Every day, when the half sun rose from the dark horizon like a broken toy being taken out of its play box to be toyed again by its celestial child, you see him hovering over the pond of muddy water like an angel. He who observed you with his eight eyes that spiraled into the center of his face. You were sure he was hiding more eyes.
But it went on like this for most days, he never moved, only followed your form when you moved across the treeless swamps for the edible algae next to the sea. And then, when you returned, you could count on him to just stand there.
It was normal, you didn't know how to feel about this strange routine, but you rationalized that as long as you both never bothered each other then everything is alright.
But that morning, when the sun emerged out of its horizon, you noticed he was a lot closer this time. In fact, he was standing right in front of your rocky entrance. You panicked, but you didn't scream, you didn't know what will happened if you did. All you could do was stay still like a snowshoe hare waiting for the lynx to scamper off, only running when necessary.
But to delicate surprise, you only saw clumps of algae neatly fitted into an "orb" of sorts? You shyly peaked out of your rocky hideout to match your eyes with his red eyes. A stare contest that lasted only for a few seconds before he began to slowly hover away with his limbs flying along with him like ribbons gently caressed by wind. You would hesitantly take the orb and indulge in a morning of...algae.
It went like this every morning for a while.
You didn't hate it, but you both weren't exactly friends yet. You couldn't trust someone like him. It would be dumb to just accept free offers like that left and right. But despite fear, you watched him watch you. Sometimes you would see him dance across and around the pond as if he was a bird of paradise performing a ritualistic dance to entice his female counterparts. Sometimes you would see him float up high in the sky, eyes moving across his body as if he was surveying for something, or someone. Sometimes you would find some pretty jewels laid out in the entrance of your rock home like offerings.
Then, the incident came that day.
The wind was particularly harsh that day and it cut against your skin so deeply you had large gashs across your skin like tiger stripes. You stumbled across the lands to try and hide away back to rocky solace. But you felt the air lighter and your vision brighter, flashes of life and memories passing by you like a sped up movie titled "You."
And maybe you found relief that you could die. Dying in a painful and agonizingly way was not the way to go, but dying nonetheless, allowing for a greater force to take you when you hesitated... It was almost like hope gave up on you yet weirdly decided to save you too.
But as you finally slipped and laid out across the glowing blue mud to accept the cruel winds, you felt your body caressed and gently curled up like you were a burrito wrap. The nodes and texture similar to that of soften leather and rubber. His limbs took you up and close to his form, shielding you from the winds as you were wrapped protectively. So much so that you felt yourself getting warmer and hotter in his grips when the cool air was refused entry.
Wrapped and succumbed to his needle appendages that dug into your flesh, like you could pop like a balloon in a box of needles. He was incredibly strong despite his "flimsy" looking tentacles as they curled and carried you around. You were lifted off of the ground, losing your worn out shoes in the process. The air up in skirs got thinner and harder to breathe in, your chest began to hurt a little like something was pressing against your chest. You almost felt your eyes go out, your head getting lighter but pressed against him.
He begun to "climb" through the air, his appendages acting like there were invisible climbing walls you couldn't see. It wasn't like the times he could just literally float.
As you both ascended the heights of the thin and light atmosphere your eyes began to close in on themselves and perhaps this was the end of it. The end to your hope and fears. And maybe, it was for the better. But when you feel the limbs of his needles gently poke into you, you felt like you wouldn't die, he wouldn't allow you to.
The priest had raised her like his own, Father in more ways than one. He had taught her how to be pure and perfect, a servant of the Lord -- and her own nature was kind to the point of pliant, faith her unshaken pillar. There is one place that she feels most comfortable, and it is knelt before her Father and the Lord on cool marble tile -- occasionally, even, head bent to press to the ground. Prostate.
It is here, knelt before the monstrance, lit by candles and shining with bliss, that her Father finds her. Her hair shines in the low light, her heart pounding in spiritual ecstasy, but all he can see is the fact that her dress clings to her in ways he hadn't noticed before. He takes a moment to adjust his trousers before a soft "ahem." It doesn't even register, for her -- she's too deep in prayer. It takes him pressing a hand to the back of her head, trailing through the hair he's braided and brushed, cursing himself for the moment of weakness, before she comes back to earth with the rest of the mortals.
When she looks up at him, eyes beatific, a vision flashes through his mind, plain as day, of her looking up at him like that with his cock easing into her mouth. He clears his throat. "It's time for bed, darling." She nods. "I need a moment."
"Of course."
She finishes her prayers, lilting Latin murmured as she presses her head back to the ground. He helps her back to the ground, leads her back to the rectory. He helps her braid her hair while they pray their nightly novena. And once she's settled in bed, he fists his cock, face pressed into his desk in an imitation of her, burning with guilt and lust and when he comes, spilling over his hand, her name is on his lips, her breasts through the thin floral fabric all he can imagine, he feels the flames of hell licking at his heels.
He prays for another hour, clear through Matins all the way to Lauds. His cock aches the entire time.
