"I don't really know about normal," Conner admits readily. "I'm glad you didn't die of old age when you didn't have a chance to be old, though."

"Two Dick Graysons. Two Jasons," Conner repeats thoughtfully. "Maybe one is one I know." It'd be nice to have people he knew here, but Conner isn't sure he should want them to be here, either. "I don't know a Tim Drake. Or a Bru-" He stops mid-word as a face comes to mind, names and memories with it. "Oh. Bruce Wayne," he says. His mouth quirks in a little smile. "Maybe he was here and figured a way out." From what his memory is telling him about Bruce, that seems like something he'd do.