tushanshu_logs

She's your aunt.

[Bruce wishes that speaking in code were as simple as switching to dead languages, but for that damned translation. Instead, he lets that sentiment speak for him, and he tilts his hand just slightly to indicate perhaps that Damian should take him home, where it's soundproofed, before they continue.]

[Yes, that does result in a moment of. Thoughtfulness. And then Damian makes a small motion, indicating the direction of his home, and then Father's, to ask which way.]

[He'll walk close by the old man's side, ready to catch him in case he falters, but not offering his arm unless asked.]

[He's... going to take the time to process the change in the power play in the family that no longer considers him theirs that the new information has introduced.]

[Bruce gives his head a barely perceptible shake, and continues back towards the Metal Sector. Damian's is perhaps a little closer (roughly three hundred and forty six meters closer) but Bruce is more assured of the security of his own.

The walk in relative silence, and when they reach the stairs leading up to his door, he holds a hand to allow Damian to go first. The boy has a key.]

[Considering the proximity to one Anthony Edward Stark, that is probably a safer bet, even with grave efforts on Damian's part.]

[And that's even discounting the guests who may or may not be at home at the moment. Probably 'home' in the case of de-aged Makoto, at least. But Damian had to offer, considering Father's current state.]

[Damian's careful unlocking the door, both because a part of his attention is making sure Bruce's reserves don't run just this close - and because it's not exactly at all unlikely that there are new safety measures. Especially considering that Father left the suite in his current physical shape - therefore likely not in the best of moods.]

[It doesn't take long for them to be inside, though, and Damian takes a moment to readjust his perspective. His height makes much more of a difference indoors, it seems. His voice - or topic of conversation - betray nothing of discomfort, however. Or distraction.]

You brought up my... relation for a reason.

[Not a question.]

Nyssa was Ra's first daughter. Like him, she's older than she seems courtesy the prolonged use of a Lazarus Pit.

[Bruce takes his jacket off, slowly, and hangs it in the hallway closet. He misses Alfred so intensely in that moment that he can barely stand it. Something about this older body is making emotion all the more poignant.]

They disagreed on a particular matter - her allowing him access to her body or those of his children as future hosts - and Ra's left her to rot in a Concentration Camp at the height of Nazi Regime. She was tortured, experimented on, and when the Camp was liberated she swore revenge against Ra's. As far as I've been able to ascertain, the rest of her family died there.

[He moves - slowly, but with no overt hints of pain - to the kitchen table and sits down. Standing is taking its toll on him, as much as he'd never admit it.]

She exacted that revenge by turning Talia against him. This involved systematic torture, execution and revival in a Pit. Nyssa had Talia for months, Damian. And your mother was never the same afterwards. Whatever, whoever she's become, she wasn't always that way.

[Damian listens. And watches.]

[A part of him is detached, because a lot of this does not surprise him. Not Grandfather wanting his blood's bodies to possess, not exacting revenge over it, not the deadly, brutal ways in which his family ... not resolves matters among them, because they don't get any resolution, but acts on their anger.]

[Another part of him? Does react. He's angry about it. Angry because of his Grandfather, angry because of his aunt, angry because of his Mother. Betrayed. He does understand the implication of the change in Mother, though he isn't sure if, had it not happened, it would have been better. For him - it would probably be better for Mother, and he's irritated at himself for feeling protective over her. Again. He is supposed to be done, with that.]

[His fist clenches, and then he forces himself to look back up, at Father. Forces his voice to be even.]

Tea?

[He's offering to make it, yes. He needs... a little time to calm down, because he can do nothing about any of this, so the rage won't help at all. And it's possible that Father can use it... as much as Damian himself can.]

[He understands the need for silence. So he simply nods.]

Please.

[Damian thinks and rethinks the new data while he's working. He understands that it changes the overall situation, he does. But, at the same time... it doesn't change it at all.]

[In the end, he settles across the table, serving the tea, his hands steady.]

[His voice is steady, too, and the anger is... very faint. This is a more informative discussion than he's had with most people, and it is important, even if he's not yet able to fathom how, in all its details.]

She still used the technology she put inside my body to keep me operational to hijack my body. And she still disowned me.

[This is the woman that we get to deal with, now. Damian isn't sure Mother wants to go back, whether or not she is capable. Father is her Detective, her Beloved. Damian... is an enemy.]

[Understanding is always important. Sympathy might be lethal.]

Nothing I've said excuses that. I am sorry to see what Talia's become, but people change and grow. Some, in positive ways.

[He gives Damian a pointed look, this means you,]

And others in bad ones. It's part of what makes us human.

[Yes, Damian's still angry. He almost snaps why are you telling me things that I know? And things that don't help at all? But he reins that in. Looking down at his tea.]

[Tea should be peaceful. Somehow.]

[He's churning too much inside, right now. But, in the end, he comes up with a question that - may ... help. Somewhat. His voice is even - calm, even if the eyes show pretty much the vulnerability of the kid that Damian... still is.]

Was I supposed to be human, do you think? Am I supposed to be human?

[Bruce curls his gnarled, aged hands around the teacup. His fingers, broken too many times, ache to do it, but the warmth of the cup helps ease it.]

How do you define human?

You used the word.

[Damian uses the response as a way to buy time. But, in the end, he shrugs.]

'Normal' is - vastly misleading, I believe. But I was - always - supposed to be perfect. That does not fit with anyone's ideas. People tell me I am allowed to make mistakes - that it makes one human. But mistakes still mean, to me, that either I die, or somebody else does. People tell me I am supposed to have fun, or faith, or hope - and I still do not know exactly what these things are, let alone... how.

I am trying to find out what it is - human. But the more I learn, the more it is not... who I am. Nor do I know if I can be.

[The last bit comes out almost down to a whisper, and through gritted teeth. He's so mixed up about it. On the one hand, he's ... sad. Sad, because it means he's a disappointment to the most important people - Grayson. Brown. Pennyworth. Rayner. Maybe Father, too, but he's not sure about anything about him, right now. Or ever, anymore. But he's also angry. Angry for his failure, angry for being this. For being made this, too. So it just comes out.]

[Bruce studies his tea, with no outward reaction. Part of him, in that moment, hates Talia. It's a strange emotion juxtaposed with the nearly two decades he's loved her.]

Being human doesn't mean conforming to other people's ideas of humanity. It means finding your own meaning in the word.

[He lifts the cup, willing his hands not to shake.]

Do you think any of those things come naturally to me? Faith, hope. [His lips twitch] 'Fun'. Those words belong to other people. It doesn't make me less, it simply makes me different. As it does you. And I will... help you. If I can. Because in addition to being human - biologically speaking - we are also family.

[Though Bruce has made a rather poor showing of it these last few months, content to simply dump the boy off on Kyle or Dick. Bruce can't be what Damian needs, he's never shone brightly enough for i.]

[Damian lets out a slow breath, then gives a small nod, a fraction of the tension leaving his shoulders. The words help, even if he's not accepting exactly all of them. But they help.]

[Bruce is underestimating, probably, the importance of the example he's setting. And keeps on setting, despite everything. Damian has never had any reason for doing a lot of things that he's been learning are expected of him (like, say, containing his temper) - and Bruce, exactly as he is, gives him something to live up to. It's a complicated mixture of so many factors - having been always made to live up to the Batman, mixed with, some ways, genuinely wanting to live up to him. And wanting at least partial approval...]

[And not entirely not getting any. The quiet, staid, barely noticeable approval makes Damian know he's earned it, and it sometimes helps more than praise heaped on him that he doesn't feel like it belongs to him.]

[And that reminds him...]

You have faith. In some people. If you did not have faith in Mother, we would not be having this conversation. And you had faith in me, until you had to face exactly what I... was.

[Is it the age of his body that makes those words twist so sharply? Bruce draws a sharp inhalation, his lungs filling to nowhere the capacity he's used to.]

Nothing I've seen from you has ever given me cause to revoke that faith, Damian. Nothing can, and nothing will. Do you understand me?

[His voice is... hoarse.]

[Damian looks up, his surprise genuine. The truth he sees and hears is jarring, in conjunction with the memory of Father's reaction when a head rolled out of the bag Damian brought in, not to mention the news of the bleeding Drake.]

[He frowns in confusion, unusually rare in how openly it shows up.]

[A part of him thinks that ... this must be it, the thing he doesn't understand. About faith in people - the way it keeps on going, even when it shouldn't. The other, far more skeptical part wonders why Father bothers. Damian's accepted the role that Bruce wanted for him, if not in the way he planned it in the first place. Why this?]

[Slowly, the bafflement melts into something else. Softer. Because he's still not used to hearing that sentiment (he might never be), and especially not from Father, and it. It makes a difference, despite the skepticism.]

I... think I do.

[Bruce's frown deepens.]

Don't think you do, Damian. Know it. Regardless of how you were raised, what you've done, who you've been. You are and will always be my son.

[Damian's lips thin, but then. Then he considers.]

[Does it make sense to ask? Does it make sense to question what-if scenarios? Would that be the case if he were not Father's flesh and blood? Would he have chosen Damian, in any way, as he had chosen his other children?]

[That is not a situation that is possible - and, however pointed the question may be just now, he is proud that it is not. It only took him more than two years to figure out it's not necessarily a reason to be prouder than Father's other family. In fact... if looked from a different angle, it's downright a disadvantage.]

[But - then there is this. This statement. It still prickles, but a part of him can see what it means. What it should mean.]

[Slowly, Damian lets his face relax, almost lowering his eyes into his tea, again.]

[Some things are not so easy to know.]

I shall try, Father.

[And, after a moment, because it seems appropriate (and with maybe just a little less of a hint of the boy that he still is, inside).]

Thank you.

[Bruce's eyes remain on the boy for a moment, and then he returns his attention to the tea.]

You make a good blend.

[Damian's surprised at the change of direction... or is it? As with most of Father's statements, there are many ways in which it can be taken. He frowns into his own tea. Trying to disentangle it.]

[And then he rolls his eyes a little, figuring out, in the end that he meant the tea. It makes the answer easier - including on the various levels that he was thinking of, a moment before.]

I have much to work with.

[A moment, and a couple of sips and.]

Should I leave you?

[No way is he going to add 'to rest,' however.]

Soon. I imagine you have other things you should be seeing to.

[A wry smile, and he lifts the glass in a salute.]

[Damian raises his cup in return. Of all things, his face eases up a bit. Because, in a way, that is praise for him, the kind of praise that he can accept without reservations or conditions.]

There usually are. [And I can handle them.] Would you require any assistance with what needs to be done here?

[Not 'need.' Require. But it is - filial, ask, isn't it.]

No. I'll live.

[A wry snort, perhaps at his own choice of words.]

You're free to go whenever you'd like, Damian.

[It's not a snort, more like a louder breath out, that Damian graces the statement with. This place won't let them die, if nothing else. Not... for long. That doesn't mean that he wants to see Father dead, however. Again.]

I know that I am.

[That's what he says, however. Because he is not here because he doesn't have choices. He's here because he wants to, and that's that. He'll finish his tea and clean up, at the very least.]

[Why is it that Bruce is good with every child on the planet save the one he's biologically related to. He presses the heel of his palm against his eye socket, fighting down a migraine. More than anything, he feels tired. And he hopes, for a variety of reasons, that this is not his future.]

(no subject)

demon_brat - 2013-11-12 22:28 (UTC) - Expand

open!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw nazi horror stories

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

I am sorry. Bruce, please don't have a heart attack...?

hahahahaha bitter irony

All of the ow forever.

ikr ;-;

Sob. These two. In small doses.

every once in a while they can 'decent human being' at each other??

one can go so far as to say that they may even need to, every once in a while.

sob

all of it

no subject

(no subject)