Another day and West's now strong enough to stand and walk.
Since being able to do so he has no intention of returning to bed, despite Alfred's somewhat pointed suggestions of doing so. The restraints have been dispensed with, though confinement is still necessary, and so there isn't far for him to venture. The novelty of his limited range of motion holds for a few hours but the manner in which Bruce observes his thin muscles sporadically tense and release makes it evident to his trained eyes that West thirsts for greater freedom.
The more energy he is able to build the twitchier he becomes.
Dick insists he has a right to know his origin. Alfred believes he's been through quite enough already and the information would make little difference, if not only upset him more.
He is better oblivious. Bruce makes the decision to keep him this way.
His reasons are different. With the disturbances West caused traversing dimensions accidentally, the global discord he stands to sow were he to put a more concerted effort into reproducing the effect is much too dangerous. Not only to their own dimension, but to the target one and West himself.
Bruce will work on the creation of a stable alternative on West's behalf, but best estimates put the construction of such a machine years from this early stage of conception to realization. Forgoing the material factors, the mathematics are also against them. This presses Bruce more. Enough money can bring any sort of contraption imaginable into existence, but cannot change the laws of physics or probability.
With an infinite number of alternate universes the search for West's dimension of origin could last thousands years without success. Its so futile its almost a fool's errand.
He will definitely need to situate him on this earth for the indefinite future.
West continues to become more difficult to contain as he recovers.
Another two days and he's bouncing off the walls, over-charged with a restlessness for which he has no outlet.
He begs Alfred and Dick to be allowed beyond his cell. They stand firm against him, but individually take it upon themselves to contest Bruce's decision to keep him under lock and key. Dick wavers and almost succumbs to the idea of sneaking West out for just a few hours but upon watching the young man's speed increase in leaps over the last few days realises it will prove too difficult to retrieve him without incident should the meta attempt to run off on him.
Seeing his pleas fall on deaf ears ignites the temper Bruce suspected West to posses.
The last few hours he's been uncharacteristically snappy and stand-offish, his dislike of solitude temporarily given a back seat as his desire to be irritated at everything and everyone around him takes the wheel.
Alfred takes the petulance in his stride, well versed in the tantrums of stubborn young men. Dick struggles but the butler has him in hand, reassuring him his friend is feeling trapped and frustrated and that his anger will eventually burn itself out... Or they can always stop feeding him the Englishman jokes conspiratorially.
Personally Bruce is amazed West's mood has managed to stay buoyant for so long in the face of his recent challenges. He thinks this is overdue, like the radiation after a nuclear meltdown. The man's peculiar brand of unsolicited trust couldn't have lasted forever behind the walls of a cell. Bruce is actually pleased by the reaction. West's previous willingness to put his absolute faith in Batman and Robin was naive to the point of being suspicious.
Currently he paces the enclosure irritable as a tiger with a toothache. The variant of pyjamas he's been wearing throughout his stay still hang off him but he has begun to fill out. His face is loosing the look of someone who recently dropped an unnatural amount of weight extremely quickly and beginning to appear more natural.
There is an extra fieriness in his hair and eyes.
Unbeknownst to West the whole medical room carries an electric charge in it's walls ever ready to dispense a disabling shock as one of it's many fail-safe features. Batman's finger is stayed from pressing that button as of yet. Despite his superior speed (and now weight), with which he could easily rush past Alfred and perhaps even Robin in a bid for freedom, he hasn't risked doing so for fear of hurting them in the process.
He is not yet an enemy and treated carefully will not become one.
He sits – stands – paces – sits – shouts
"AAAArg! Just lemme' out already!"
He lashes a kick against one of the computer banks, yelps and hops up and down clutching his foot having just damaged a toe.
Then repeats.
Bruce trusts Alfred's assurances that his conniption will simmer down of it's own accord – hopefully before he breaks all 10 toes or more equipment- and chooses to ignore him, turning his attention to a new case. West's presence has not stopped the Batman's vigil of his city.
After a few more hours of raging West is once again docile, hungry and suitably contrite. Apparently he is not the type of man comfortable with the sub-par treatment of others and his apologetic guilt cools his blood. He asks to see Robin, but its late and Dick is in bed. For upsetting his ward West deserves to wait the night out with a guilty conscience.
The fight in him will resurface eventually and Bruce needs to prepare for that duel with a realistic solution. The incident raises one critical point: putting West into care is not a viable option. He would only feel this same need escape.
Batman marches into the enclosure unsurprised to find West huddled on the bed in an effort to look as unintimidating as possible. He smiles at Bruce meekly upon seeing him enter and waves at him mildly in a gesture so fast it becomes but a blur of colour to the eye.
"Hey Bats – ah!"
Batman throws him a tracksuit, running shoes and thick strip of black material, intending for West to catch them but apparently over-estimating the man's coordination. He fumbles before pinching the slender black cloth by the tip and dangling it warily as if he's just been thrown a live cobra.
"Put this on"
West eyes him incredulously, watching for any signs of jest or weakening resolve behind Bruce's stiff cowl. He finds none and sighs with resignation before complying.
The tracksuit is a special material Bruce has synthesized for the occasion. It's structure is heavily based on the scraps of uniform originally retrieved from West's body. The meta is hesitant for a moment before hastily redressing, folding the blindfold around his eyes and concluding with a sceptical "Okaaaay?"
"Stand up."
and he does
Batman places the palm of one gauntlet between West's protruding shoulder blades.
"Walk"
"'Can't see!"
He applies enough pressure to tip the smaller man forward slightly, his legs catching themselves and naturally moving to walk in response. Batman finishes by plugging his ears.
"HEY!"
West is affronted, but utterly at Batman's mercy. Bruce steers him from the enclosure and through the Batcave into a small gymnasium he has built for this task. The bats screech loudly at the unfamiliar presence. West remains blind and deaf to the details around him.
He's freed from the blindfold and earplugs upon arrival in the new space and looks around with interest, darting over from inspecting one piece of equipment to the next. He tinkers a bit with the last one before returning to Batman's side and cocking his head.
"Sooo, s'answer's the do you lift question, huh?"
With West in tow Bruce crosses the space to the main event.
He has built the custom treadmill himself to withstand what he estimates West's abilities can do. The meta's recent outburst has demonstrated he has enough expendable energy to begin testing and his earlier hysterics have made him obedient and eager to please as a bonus. The opportunity is worth capitalizing on. Even in West's still lacking condition the results will lay groundwork Bruce can use to estimate his capabilities at his peak.
"Get on."
"Um. D'whi have to?"
"You wanted to run earlier". Demanded was more the word for it as Bruce recalls.
"Well yeah, but -" West trails off, watching the machine as if it poses the threat of coming alive to bite him.
With another push to his back Batman bodily shifts him onto the treadmill; West puts up a token resistance by digging in his heels but is ultimately easily overpowered by the Batman's superior strength, weight and resolve. Once in place he activates the console, the movement of the belt beneath West's feet prompting him to move whether he likes it or not.
Bruce has programmed it to gradually rise from 0 to 80 mph over a time elapse of 30 seconds. He estimates this is well within West's capabilities. The meta stumbles at first but quickly matches the rapidly increasing pace to exceed the speed and acceleration of the average car at a light jog.
He is far from fit and awkwardly panting, but as the treadmill moves into it's second program to elevate his speed to 160 mph his form improves and heavy breathing lessens.
His body grows more comfortable the faster it moves, Batman notes.
A grin has broken out on his face so wide it's a surprise it fits and West seems happy to keep running in-place unattended as Bruce studies the results of the computer within his gauntlet.
West's body isn't generating the same energy signature of the white hole, nor the boson or exotic particles associated with teleportation. Bruce theorises an extra factor must have been at work to initiate his accidental leap through dimensions. If so, even when incentivized West will have no way of attempting to return on his own.
This conclusion does not change Bruce's decision to keep his origin concealed, but does put him at ease.
West begins to laugh like a fool and Bruce glances back to observe the program now has him running at 560 mph. He remotely commands it to hold at this speed. West is finding it manageable, but challenging and Bruce doesn't care to push him any faster in his current state. He allows him to run to his heart's content, alternating between studying the test results and surveying West for evidence of over-exertion or discomfort.
The run continues for 31 minutes before his movements begin to grow laboured and Bruce disengages the treadmill, letting the meta slow to a stop. To think that even mutated the human body is capable of such speed is a testament to homosapien biology.
As soon as the mill stops all remaining energy seems to rush out of West. He trips on exhausted wobbly legs as he clambers off the belt, panting in earnest. Batman plies him with water from a flask as West vaguely slumps against him with a sloppy grin. West's body naturally hyper-produces adrenaline, endorphins and certain other hormones.
A single glance at him now and Bruce wouldn't have needed a blood test to tell him that.
He looks like a racehorse after the Grand National; all shivering muscle and thin legs; hair slicked back with sweat; chest heaving like bellows and dazed by the sudden loss of velocity.
The moment Bruce returns him to sitting on the medical enclosure's bed he's asleep. Bruce will permit him a couple of hours rest but after that he must wake to eat something before bedding down for the night. Until then he removes West's shoes and suit, towelling off the excess sweat before re-dressing him in his usual attire. West doesn't wake.
Bruce leaves, satisfied Alfred will later attend to anything he has neglected and returns upstairs in his own bid for sleep.
AN:
I always thought it was a bit weirdly coincidental that Batman just so happens to have a giant inter-dimension portal ready-built in 'A Better World'. Its not really the average kind of thing you pop down to Ikea to get on a whim.