tushanshu_logs

Entry tags:

open!

Characters: Bruce Wayne and open
Date: During the mis-spell event!
Location: Lots of places in Keeliai.
Situation: Bruce Wayne is an octogenarian. This ends about as well as you can expect.
Warnings/Rating: Warning for talk of heart issues, so if this bothers or triggers you lmk and I'll avoid it in any threads we do.

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[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.]

[What, what? Damian was aiming for reassuring, here - that he won't run away because he was told that he could. That he wasn't forced - and didn't think himself as such.]

[But he does notice the motion, and won't take too long, letting his Father maybe get a little rest.]

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open!

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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

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