"Selina," he growls. He understands her need to make light of a situation, but the truth of the matter is? Bruce has never been anywhere he doesn't want or consent to being for even half that long. A third, a quarter. Being here, being trapped, having a constant influx of allies who all expect him to have solved their quandary by now is constantly grating on him, wearing him down until he's walking the knife edge of his already tenuous sanity.

But seeing her stabilizes him in a way he didn't know he'd needed, and he stares down at the scarf she'd used, the way red wicks across the surface like a candleflame. He's bleeding more heavily here than he would be in the real world. Metaphorical. "We shouldn't stay here."