He doesn't know what to expect, entirely. Vanitas has always been a little taciturn with matters of support and empathy. It isn't an unknown quantity because enough details have been disclosed over the last few months for Bruce to have an approximation to the cause. He has yet to meet a person that was born this way; pain like this is cultivated, it's nourished. There have been other moments where the truth of Vanitas's experiences betray him. In the widening of his eyes when Bruce came through the cell to reach for him. In the way he would seek out company for meals, that he needed someone to guide him through his fear of the water.

It's here too, in the green luminescence of his gaze as Bruce finds him downstairs- not in the kitchen, not near his bed. Just here, like an island all his own.

Bruce stands beside the stairs, quiet and watchful. And then he says his name.
"Vanitas."