With CAT scans the brain damage is confirmed. Bruce had suspected it from the ever-present slur in the boy's words; how some seem to merge into each other while others go entirely wanting. Batman explains to the dazed young man that if the trauma is the cause of his amnesia it's unlikely his memories will ever fully return. He's understandably upset. Currently he sits in shock, staring at Bruce blankly. That's what he is. Blank.
The only lead left on the man's identity is a dead end. He matches no filed missing persons reports and yet is very much a person missing. Alfred makes an attempt to feed him a light broth. He's dressed in surgical scrubs and a surgeon's mask to protect his identity, and a kevlar apron to protect his body. While the patient looks at the meal longingly he seems unable to stomach the concoction. Afterwards the meta spends the remainder of the day in troubled sleep.
He needs a lot of food, but for the most part is too stressed or pained from his injuries to both eat and keep the food down, particularly when alone. He throws up from pure distress whenever he's left too long on his own, retching even when he has only bile and water to regurgitate.
Alfred does not approve of Bruce's intention to study his powers, fix him up ready for travel, and turf him out, but Bruce is firm – the Batcave is capable of healing many physical wounds but rehabilitating brain damage is not one of them. While he seems more or less coherent, there's special doctors and clinics more adapt at dealing with such issues where the patient can get the psychological and speech therapy he's going to need. The one fortunate enough to receive him as a patient has a large Wayne Enterprises grant in it's future for it's discretion.
Still, such things are a way down the line until they can get the man well enough to cope with such plans.
He glances wayward towards the enclosure. Robin has taken to spending time with the patient.
Although originally out of guilt for sneaking on him it would seem he actually has come to enjoy his company in the patient's limited waking hours over the last two days. The meta seems chirpy enough between the bouts of pain and depression and despite being unable to remember anything of a vaguely personal nature seems to have a fairly average range of knowledge on subjects common to a lower-middle or working class upbringing for a man his age. The microphone tuned into the conversation within the enclosure currently informs him their discussing films. His facts are a little off as he seems absolutely adamant that Nicolas Cage and Sean Connery played Aragorn and Gandalf respectively in Lord of the Rings, but he has the rest of the cast right. Possibly some disassociation of names to faces may be involved.
Dick for the most part seems to find these quirks funny and enjoys teasing him. While the meta is largely docile and friendly, he apparently has a stubborn streak Bruce suspects might manifest itself as somewhat of a temper were the patient in better condition. Yet he seems to enjoy making Dick laugh (most likely for selfish reasons, ensuring he is perceived as an amusement to encourage ongoing visits) which has been difficult to do since his protégée waded into his teen years.
Alfred - the patient calls him 'doc' for lack of a more appropriate title - has also taken a liking to him, though he hides it well.
Bruce himself has spent most of his time chasing anything that seems even remotely feasible, scavenging the storm-sites and retracing energy patterns. There are no leads to be found, yet he continues to search even though it may be aggravatingly futile. Despite shaping up to be quite the 'chatterbox' (as Alfred says), the young man is certainly decent enough to have a family waiting for his return. Bruce would much prefer such a reunion over sending him into care.
In an effort to shake something loose, the Batman has prepared a little show and tell for him today. Robin's conversation with him - attempting to convince him despite his insistence otherwise that there is no such thing as Pokemon X or Y – is of no major importance and so he chooses now to conduct his experiment.
He strides purposefully as always into the room.
"- if there was I'd totally own one by now-"
"Heya Bats!"
Batman scowls at him as he grins back, the invented nickname apparently already solidified in his mind as of yesterday. Bruce does not care for it. Robin grins at this knowingly.
"Great timing, I need a break" He chirps.
The meta's face falls and adopts the most ridiculous puppy-eyed pout Bruce has ever seen on a man nearly (if not already) 20, which Robin laughs at openly before adding "Not from you, to pee. Dofus." So easily the man's grin returns.
"Kay, see you later?" he asks, suddenly sheepish. His own inability to cope with even temporary isolation is a deep source of embarrassment apparently.
"Of course" Robin replies easily with a roll of his eyes and a smirk before escaping out the door behind Bruce.
The meta watches him leave. After a pause a single large green eye switches back to fall on Batman. He mutters "Still nuthin'" in a tight apologetic voice, joy falling off his face as his gaze sinks downwards into the purest look of dejection Bruce has ever seen.
"Some things to try" Bruce finds himself growling back, trying to sound at least a little comforting and failing; the meta seems to appreciate the effort though and shoots him a shaky smile.
The first item is a photograph; one taken of the street in Central City the storm materialized in shortly before said incident occurred. Given what remains of the mild accent beneath the slur that has nearly overpowered it, it was likely Central was originally his home or place of significance. Despite his hopes, no households had reported the absence of their red haired, green eyed brother/nephew/son.
The patient stared at the photograph curiously before turning his blank eye back on Bruce's own.
"S'a street."
"Yes."
"...Okay?"
"No significance?"
"Erm..."
He glanced back over the photograph one last time before shaking his head, wincing in pain at the motion of doing so.
The next item Bruce placed before him was a small red cup with an elegantly crafted zig-zag erupting out of it. He'd been wearing two of them when he was found but Bruce doubted he'd remember that if slamming into the Batwing caused the brain damage fuelling his amnesia.
The young man clasped the surprisingly complex piece of tech in his hand, running his thumb over the sharp angles of the feather-like detailing on the side and turning it around in his palm as best he could while still strapped to a hospital bed. It wasn't abnormal for meta abilities to enter a sort of self-defensive hibernation after a large trauma, and as they had yet to truly reassert themselves Bruce allowed the cuffs off only for him to use to rest room, eat or be sick.
Ultimately he frowned.
"I have nooooo idea what this is."
Collecting it back Bruce placed the final item in the waiting hand and watched the abrupt shift of emotions as he did so. The second he laid eyes upon the frames of the empty red goggles they turned wet and glassy.
He grasped the frames tight with possessiveness and frustration; confusion and profound sadness. Then finally, release them in utter defeat.
"Nothing?" Batman prompted.
The answer remained a quietly spoken "No... M'sorry..."
Bruce moved to take them back but the meta's grip on them tightened once more, unwilling to let go while still staring at them miserably.
"Can I – Can I keep em? I mean, their mine right? Can'I have them back?"
Technically they were part of Batman's investigation, but he'd already screened them. Taking them back at this moment felt like forcibly removing a teddy bear from a frightened child and he needed the boy to remain as oddly cooperative and understanding as he had been up until this point, despite the lack of explanations or freedoms.
"Yes" Bruce assured with certainty. After all, if he needed them in the future he wouldn't have far to go to retrieve them.
"Thanks, Bats" He quietly sighed, loosening his death-grip on the headgear slightly.
"- The cave has a strict inventory policy when it comes to evidence I'm afraid, sir" Alfred announced, marching dutifully through the door in his surgical mask and apron. Effortlessly, he balances a tray of tea and delicious smelling lunchables in one hand and a thick wad of papers in the other. "- You'll need to sign this release form."
Alfred moved around the room, depositing the tray and releasing the boy's restraints so as to furnish him with the papers and a pen. The young man shrugged casually, not at all suspicious (unlike Bruce who was well aware no such ridiculous policy existed) and quietly scrawled something into the bottom box, hand jumping mechanically back and forth across the paper as his hungry eyes sized up the platter of lunch-time delectables with a carnal focus.
"Very good, sir" the butler soothed smoothly, pouring the tea as Bruce stole forward to snatch up the paper in disbelief. "Milk or cream, sir?" came added sardonic query, thick with amusement and triumph.
Bruce grunted and strode out of the room, eyes never leaving the messily penned name at the bottom of the page.
Wally West