It's tempting, of course, to look at the size, the
flexibility, the focus in those eyes... to take in
everything Tim has been given in the form of this
particular *teenager* and tell himself that youth is
hardly an obstacle, at all. This is Bruce, after all,
and he has never been average. Just the same --

"I'm not... there's a lot I remember knowing that I
don't know, anymore," Bruce says, voice rumbling on
a note that is -- slowly -- becoming more familiar
despite its relative height. "I just... I don't
feel... right."

Just the same, Bruce is seated on Tim's bed, nude
save for pajama bottoms and the frown which seems
to be constantly making and remaking itself. "There's
quite a lot I know, now, that I don't remember
learning. It's the spell."

"I know that! I -- I know. It's just. I thought --"

"Bruce," Tim says, sitting up and folding his hands
in his lap.

Bruce's eyes are wide, pupils obvious in the dim
light from the bedside lamp. He is -- looking for

And something in Tim's tone had come -- close. Well.
"What did you think?" Tim's tone is as gentle as he
can manage.

"I thought," Bruce says, and ducks his head. One
hand is toying at the drawstring of the pajama
bottoms. "I thought you could help."

Ah. But. "You're not -- this isn't 'help,' Bruce."

"I know that. I remember knowing that. But it
doesn't make a difference right now. It just --
it doesn't. Batman."

The shadows don't leap dramatically. The curtains
don't whisper any secrets they haven't already
told. And Tim's memories, right now, are a
somewhat difficult lie. "Come here," he says.

Bruce shivers and does so.