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'Oh I definitely have a lot going in the addle-brained department,' he says cheerfully. 'C'mon, help me get down.'

...

"I've noticed."

Dammit, is this banter? He's not supposed to banter. Except with Grayson when they--

Damian swallows, then moves to help the Lantern rise without stressing the ribs unduly.

And then he won't make Kyle take his support for walking, but he will be close in case there is need. Close and paying attention.

'Maybe you should get me treats, and train me.' He doesn't lean on Damian, but he stays close, occasionally putting his hand on Robin's shoulder to steady himself. His fingers still hurt: the pain of his fingers breaking will never leave him. Neither will the fear.

They reach the door, and he sneaks in, letting Damian close it softly behind them. Then, he pads to the kitchen, turns on the light, and looks for something they can eat.

"What?"

Don't joke about him treating people like pets, Kyle. That snaps him right out of the lighter mood, since, well.

Talia.

He marches into the kitchen right at Kyle's heels, sees him looking around, guessing doesn't take much work, and he commands.

"Sit."

'Yessir,' he says, cheerfully, carefully stepping, realising he's said something wrong along the way. 'What's on the menu? I could really use some cookies.'

Damian lets it go. His stomach turns slowly, and he doesn't want it to keep doing that.

Instead, he starts opening and closing cupboards and everything else in the kitchen, familiarizing himself with what is available.

"When was the last time you ate and what was it?"

'Thirty-six hours ago, and it was a loaf of bread, with that strange fruit jam.' He smiles, slightly sheepish. 'I kind of gave the rest to some kids.'

"Rayner!" It's actually close to a growl. "Did anybody by any chance forget to mention to you that depriving your body of nutrients during convalescence will at best slow it down, and, at worst, may damage you?

"While giving food to children is commendable, I shall have words with Natu. She should have been more responsible." If you won't be.

He's already moving around the kitchen. Baking a bread will take too long, right now, but he can make a simple soup rather quickly, and there are some biscuits to go with it. Stew will also take some time, but knives in his hands are chopping down ingredients for a make-do stir-fry.

And, among all that, there just might be mixing a simple cookie batter. Possibly.

Oh, he just grins wickedly at the disapproval. He's always been drawn to mother hens, and Damian is being the epitome of one, albeit a ten-year-old one (and did he just threaten to tattle? Score.)

'Addle-brained, remember? And don't blame her, I've been escaping treatments for years.' The truth was, he disliked doctors. Even Sora was only tolerated because she was Corps; otherwise Kyle preferred magic, or Amazon healing rays. Doctors made him think of hospitals, and hospitals meant helplessness.

'Hey, that smells great. Where did you learn to cook?'

"You are her responsibility while you are recovering. Of course I do blame her."

She is his doctor. No matter how little Kyle may like the profession, or the helplessness, it is her job to make sure he is cared for. Damian's glare levels again. "If you would rather she did not learn, you need to make her work easier."

Damian's not joking, either. Sora will know about this, and with displeasure.

He turns back to the stove, and then...

... doesn't reply immediately.

In fact, his response comes almost when it seems like he won't give it.

"It was part of my study of poisons. I needed to be able to recognize the alterations poisons left in the taste and smell of food," yes, that means that Damian was administered poisons, but he doesn't pause to let that implication sink in, "so I needed to know what many foods actually are supposed to taste like. And to prepare them myself, to avoid the possibility of anyone administering the when I needed to be sure in what I ate."

Beat.

"It takes far less effort than most people seem to think it does."

'Well, it's still not her fault I'm a terrible patient.' His voice is still light, but there is an element of back off in his tone, he doesn't like it when his people are criticised, especially for something as small as this.

The silence, however, is belligerent, and instinctively Kyle cuts it by inching closer to the stove, leaning against it slightly, watching Damian's body language. He's tense in a way he only is when he refers to his past, and although Kyle's already told him to warn when he accidentally presses buttons (and he knows Damian doesn't particularly care when that history is brought up, but that doesn't mean it should be.)

He inhales sharply as the implication hits him, and he bites his lip, holding his tongue for the curses that are building at the back of his mind. He hasn't felt anger like this with Damian for a while, not since he was told about the House of al Ghul, and Ra's trying to possess Damian. It takes tremendous self-control, but Kyle's a Lantern, and so he drops a hand to Damian's shoulder and squeezes, gently. I'm here, I'm sorry, I'm listening.

'I was took to food that easily,' he remarks, using a tangent. 'Better with beverages. Want me to try and make some juice?'

Thirty-six hours without food is not a small thing. Not in his present condition, and not with healing magic involved, too. He won't back down, because Kyle should remain aware of the consequences of his carelessness about himself. Not because the other Lantern had failed in her job.

However, he's too distracted by the memories to keep arguing about it now. And he actually slips away from the hand on his shoulder - not sharply, and not batting it away or even shrugging it off, but a small sign of, this is something I survived and learned from, I do not need it to become less... plus, he does need to move around. He appreciates the listening, however. And the lack of a horrified reaction. Overtly horrified, that is.

"Rest your hands. You will need them on the console tomorrow." Pause. "But thank you for the offer."

He doesn't know if Damian not arguing the point about not eating is a concession, but if it is, he backs off, gives his own:

'I'll make it for you another day.'

That earns him a look up from the stovetop, and a definite relaxing of the boy's features.

"Yes." And, after a moment, "please."

'Any fruits in particular you like, or should I surprise you?'

He speaks carefully, surprises are not things Damian takes well to, usually, but this is the good kind of surprise.

No negative response. In fact, Damian's face relaxes even more as he gives a small, approving nod, starting to scoop cookies on a baking sheet... stand-in.

"More fruit and less added sugar is generally preferred. As to which fruit, I have no great displeasure about specific ones, or allergies." So you can choose.

Pause.

"If you are making a drink for Grayson, and you can find any, he insists on adding ovaltine when he has any control over it. At least the one from my world does."

He nods his acknowledgement and approval. 'That's fine, I'm not overly fond of too much sweetness anyway.' We can drink the same stuff, together. 'I almost miss lemonade though, the really sour stuff. That was a nightmare to try and import to Oa, I think we had to bribe maybe seven people.'

It's just rambling to distract himself from getting overwhelmed. Already, he's running through various combinations while seated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and doesn't quite pay attention to what Damian is doing. The aroma of the soup is also beginning to affect him visibly and he inhales deeply, savouring it.

'Have you ever tried ovaltine?'

"Don't they have 'ethnic food imports' or something of that sort, then?"

Damian's tone is dry, but empty of venom. He notices the look on Kyle's face, and, after he sets the cookies to bake and gives the soup another stir, he scoops out some of the salad into two plates and settles one of them in front of Kyle, taking a seat around the corner from him.

"I have drunk the 'shakes'-called drinks that Pennyworth has concocted at Grayson's behest, yes."

While the words are nearly derisive, his voice is still - softer that could be expected. He misses both of them.

He makes a face. 'They do, but supply lines are always an issue. It's easier to ask another Lantern if they're popping by your home planet so they can get you what you want, but a lot of them can't really navigate Earth so,' a half shrug, 'we don't try. Besides, it's actually not that a far a journey if one's really desperate, and it's not really necessary to life on Oa.' But it would be more comfortable, he doesn't add.

He picks up a fork and, after saying grace, eagerly tucks in, chewing slowly and carefully.

'Milkshakes, you mean?' His tone, in contrast, is quite curious. He doesn't know a lot about Damian's life at the Manor, besides inferring that it is probably extremely spartan.

Edited 2013-07-15 12:27 (UTC)

... sorry, Damian is still sort of staring. This is just the first time he sees somebody do this.

Ever.

In his life.

He's not shocked. But he doesn't get it.

Kyle, however, thinks that he's got something in his teeth. 'What?' he says, surprised. 'Is there sauce on my face?'

He looks down.

"No. There is nothing wrong on your face. I don't understand what you were saying, however."

It makes no sense to him.

It clicks. 'Grace?' He pauses, wondering how to explain that. 'You don't have to say it, but it's usually polite to bow your head or observe me quietly.'

Another pause.

'I'm not religious, not anymore. It's a habit I never broke - it's... all I have left of my mother.'

Damian stays still and quiet for a long time, only nodding to Kyle that he should continue eating. There is a lot in those few sentences that he's trying to connect, fit together.

So. 'Grace.' Grace is a religious thing. It is also a habit. And it is also...

After a little while, he gets up to take the soup off the fire and serve a bowl for Kyle. He sets it down, carefully, then stands by the table, his body making his point louder than any words could, a messed up mix as he is of both his parents, forever incapable of escaping their legacies.

"It's not all that you have left of her. But I was merely - confused." Not criticizing.

After another moment, he sits back down, picking more at his salad.

He waits. Things like these (faith, hope, fun, being a child) didn't come easily to Damian, and it did hurt to watch him attempt to figure it out when it should come naturally to him. But Kyle's long since managed to get past most of his anger about that, and come to respect the kid.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, after all.

He doesn't speak when Damian puts down the soup bowl in front of him, and he makes no move to eat, either. It's incredibly difficult to even broach the subject of a chosen family with Damian, given that he was bred for it, and taught to believe that his genes made him superior or better suited than everyone else. And maybe, that was what people saw: the little Wayne who was destined to do great things, inherit a heavy legacy, but Kyle saw a child, a friend, and a kindred spirit, who should never have had to carry anything like this. Not so young.

(But Ganthet is in an alley, holding out the ring, and saying, 'You will have to do.' And there isn't any other choice. Swim, or drown.)

'Aside from a painting she made for me? It is.' He is quiet, picking at his own salad. He hadn't had the best relationship with his (overbearing, he'd have said, then. Now? He'd say loving.) mother.

'Faith is a choice. I'm going through the motions of it, but it's not really there at all.' A pause. 'Hope is a choice, too, but you can't go through the motions of that.'

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