thirty-ninth jump;

[ataraxites]

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Gravity Couches and beyond.
WARNINGS: Maybe some swearing, or even some violence, and more than likely some implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: Another month, another jump, another round of new faces.
NOTES: A feeling of deep dread greets you as you stumble out of the gravcouch, strong enough to hold you still for a long moment, searching your surroundings for the source of your wariness. Nothing becomes apparent, only your fellow passengers waking up. Eventually you gather the resolve to pick yourself up and start moving, the feeling fading slowly as you progress through routine.

New arrivals will find messages spraypainted across their lockers telling them not to follow their tattoo numbers, and instead to find a room on Floors 001-010.


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There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're deposited on the floor of a stark, sterile medical bay.

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There are others who have come before you, others who are awakening beside you. Some may be familiar to you, perhaps even friends. Others have much less amiable plans. Some are merely alien and inexplicable, but there are always those who might mean you harm.

After you catch your breath and your vision returns, you notice a number on the inside of your forearm. Maybe it's a familiar number. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's just a number. But the number—completely unique to you—is a tattoo, and it does not come off.

If you enter the room adjacent to the medbay, you will find a small locker with your number on it, surrounded by rows upon rows of identical lockers. Inside, you will find a few of your personal items, a communications device, and a ship's uniform in your exact size. The comms device is fully powered and connects directly to the ship's network; it's your only means of communication beyond physical conversation. Upon turning the device on, a neutral, automated voice will say, "Please take the blue lift to the passenger quarters." Any other attempts at communicating with the rest of the network are met only with static.

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Comments

[righteously]

[After so many minutes of his mental fumbling and his absentmindedness, Blake's sudden and determined stare pins Dean for a second. Makes any protests die before they get started, because that's the kind of look you give someone when you need them to just trust you about what they're saying, even if it sounds crazy. Dean's given that look himself, and he gets it.

So after a beat of holding that gaze, his lips purse and he nods slowly.

Alright. He'll take it seriously.

Especially because of that other thing Blake said, sharing someone else's dream. His tongue passes along his teeth for a second before he finally shifts, breaking eye contact to stare absently toward the back of the locker room.]

...Something else happened while you were out. Something I think might be related.

[oversight]

[ He's glad for the credit at this point because he doesn't have the fortitude or the focus to argue. Instead, he allows himself to follow Dean's lead because he knows that's going to be the safest and easiest route at this point. ]

What was it?

[ Already he's imagining all sorts of vivid and troublesome images. What if Tranquility is like Wonderland in that it eats up and spits out memories? Any number of past experiences has John on edge as he waits for Dean to explain. ]

[righteously]

[He's not so sure about eating memories, but spitting them out? That's looking like a solid yes. He shifts a little, crosses his arms, flicks his eyes back to Blake's face again.]

You remember when you were, I don't know, maybe, fourteen? You got taken in by those assholes who couldn't quite hack it as foster parents- Jane and Eric?

[Something he seems to know about a little too well, epecially considering he shouldn't know it at all?]

Things got a little rough, so the called the cops on you, and you bolted?

[oversight]

[ Okay, no, that's alarming. John's eyes go a little wide because he knows he didn't tell Dean about that incident, and even if he had, he never would have bothered naming the fosters specifically.

His eyes narrow, not at Dean but the situation in general, and he huffs out a frustrated noise. ]

You got that from me? [ Where else would it have come from? ] Jesus Christ, why? What the— What's that gotta do with anything?

[righteously]

First person perspective and all.

[He confirms with a grim nod. It had been vivid, he'd been able to feel every emotion inside himself. The injustice of it all, the pain, the anger, the fear. For a moment he'd been fourteen again, and now that memory is slotted into that age on his timeline somehow, filed neatly into his events.

His inner fourteen year old had empathized extremely.]

That's not all. I got a couple more, too. Every time I went down to check on you in that pod, a little more would crop up. I don't know if- if it's just me and you, or if it's a global thing, but. Yeah.

[oversight]

[ Well, that answers some questions. Blake looks every bit a sourpuss as his lips twist unpleasantly. Great. This is just fantastic. ]

Wasn't just you. Someone else stopped me talkin' 'bout Bruce. Wasn't sure what to think of it, just wanted to get the guy offa me, but...

[ He looks sharply at Dean. ]

What else did you see?

[righteously]

[He's just gonna eye you a minute there buddy for that sharp look, because that's the look of someone hiding someting. Yeah, okay, granted everyone's entitled to their own privacy, but considering Dean's life was literally an open book once and Blake read that shit cover to cover, he doesn't feel all that guilty about being curious.

...On the other hand, he does feel a little bit guilty that he still hasn't told Blake about what he did to Sam, but he's... mostly repressing that until he's forced to deal with it again. Hopefully never.]

Who's the guy asking about Bruce?

[He asks instead of answering, brow furrowing a little in interest, because...

It's gotta be someone from the comics, right? Right?

There's no denying that little hitch to his eyebrow that suggests a fanboy lurketh just beneath the surface, waiting for an exciting answer.

Clark Kent. NO, wait- cat woman. Come onnnnn Cat Woman.]

[oversight]

[ Catwoman? As if. In fact, Blake would have preferred someone he recognized, be it from comics or otherwise, but as it stands, he doesn't know the origin story of the guy that pinned him just outside the pods. ]

Davis. He introduced himself when we got here, even checked up on me before this— this coma thing.

[ It had been a surprising turn of events if nothing else. John's still working through the foggy remains, trying to decide why it was so damn important. ]

Don't think I won't be followin' up on that, 'cause it's at the top of my list...

[righteously]

Davis?

[He repeats, elements of disgust and incredulity in his voice. Not because he's grossed out by the person, but because he's disturbingly dissapointed not to recognize it. He'd have taken, like, a Dick or an Alfred, or just about anything, but-]

Who the hell is Davis? That's not even a good name, that's-

[He cuts himself off and holds up a hand, the sheer embodiment of oh my god I'm so done right now I just can't even.

Ugh. It could have been cat woman. Screw you, Davis.]

[oversight]

[ It was the name that Blake was given and it hadn't rang any bells for John, either. Some names do, as they both know, but Davis was all he had to go on... if you don't count the mechanical arm. ]

Nomenclature aside, he doesn't even know my name, so maybe it's not a big deal. But I don't really like the idea of— of Bruce's face gettin' out there.

[ Not to mention, there's no telling how many of his memories were leaked and who happened to get their grubby minds on them. ]

You get anything from anyone else while you were down there?

[righteously]

[The mechanical arm would be a good detail to include, damn you. Come on, Blake, come on. Dean shakes his head slowly.]

I hate to break it to you, man, but Bruce's name is already out there. In every universe but yours, everybody knows about Batman. He's- hell, he's bigger than Michael Jackson.

[Who Dean's pretty sure exists in Blake's version of Earth, if for no other reason than he'd made a Prince of Pop reference that time Blake went supervillain during an event and wore gloves. Granted, they had bigger issues to deal with than Blake mentioning the name didn't ring a bell, but he didn't have that I don't get it look Dean's memorized throughout all his years spewing pop culture references.

Anyway. Moving on.]

But I didn't exactly go snooping around the other nappers, so no. Nobody else.

[oversight]

[ It's not even so much Bruce's face as Blake's connection to Bruce. Back in Gotham, Wayne's supposed to be dead. Any pre-existing contact between the two was pretty scarce and mostly public, so a post-death billionaire giving kung-fu tips might turn a lot of heads.

Then again, they're a couple of universe-hopping space-prisoners living with the knowledge that they took a cracked-out adventure through actual-factual Wonderland, so what does it really matter? And beyond that, there's no one else from Blake's Gotham to really make that connection, is there? Nevertheless, the urge to protect his secret (and by association, Bruce's secret) is pretty damn strong.

Pushing a hand through his hair, John nods and lets his attention drift away for a moment.

Beyond all that, if someone's messing with his head, he really wants to know about it. ]

So, why you? An' why me? An' why him? [ Might as well get on this mystery, Scoob. ] What's the connection? Why're we—?

[ Okay, no, maybe he needs to slow down just a bit. John grumbles and takes a seat on one of the benches, head cradled in his hands for the time being. ]

[righteously]

[Dean could probably poke a million holes in the logic behind Blake keeping his secret, but at the end of the day, Dean gets it. Just because there's a possibility someone else in some other universe has seen his movie, that doesn't mean they wanna go attracting undue attention. Hell, Dean himself kept his dayjob a secret when he first met Blake, even though it didn't mean jack squat to anyone but him.

Keeping the Batsecret is a long, long tradition.

The bigger question is why is Dean the dog? Maybe Blake's Scoob.

He shrugs uselessly.]

Hell if I know, man.

[His lips purse empathetically as Blake lowers himself down onto the bench, looking defeated and exhausted and confused, and while that's pretty much their normal state, he can't help but feel for the guy.

He reaches out, gives Blake's shoulder a comforting squeeze.]

I think I know something that'll cheer you up. I got someone I want you to meet.