the man and his monster. (
vahital) wrote in
bakerstreet2019-05-30 06:41 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Entry tags:
picture prompt meme

the picture prompt meme
— Comment with your character and any preferences.
— Others will leave a picture (or two, or three...)
— Reply to them with a setting based on the picture.
— Link to any pictures that are NSFW, please.
— Be aware that this meme will be image-heavy.
no subject
"You saved me. You saved my life."
no subject
Another attitude change: Drake is the first person to offer validation for his efforts, and in his own cagey fashion, Damian eats it up. Finally stands, shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and meanders over to the hospital bedside.
“Certain third parties disagree.” Not naming names, not even flicking his gaze upwards. “And seem to think that if I hadn’t forced their hands, you wouldn’t have been shot. Ignoring the fact it was six on one and weapons had already been drawn.”
no subject
It's easier to talk with Damian moving closer. He can be quieter, which aggravates less, which lets him go on a little longer. "He'd be easier on you if it wasn't before. Or if we were ever not--fighting. I see how it looks. Like borrowed trouble."
no subject
no subject
Aimless and repentant--that has to be something, too. "...I couldn't see how I was supposed to talk to you. After what I said. After what I did."
no subject
"I got over it." A statement accompanied by a shrug, as if it were as easy as sweeping dust under a carpet. Shoving a bad memory into the back of the closet and ignoring the fact he still had nightmares about rabid dogs and a brilliant scar across his hip.
"You can be over it too now."
no subject
no subject
“Yes, we’re over it.”
They’re close enough now, and he understands enough to know this is a high emotional hurtle. And if they’re striking a deal to be done with that past trauma, a proper deal, it’s to be sealed with a business-like handshake. The hand Damian extends is pocket-clammy, but steady.
no subject
He reaches across his body with a wince and a determined breath out to meet Damian's hand. Like everything, it hurts. Unlike most of this, it seems worth it.
Grip snug, Tim holds onto him for a few extra second. "So. How far are you into the bitter period? Maybe the--piss the old man off stage?"
no subject
"Not just yet." The closest he'll come to an admission that he's wallowing. Just because it doesn't feel like Bruce is in the right doesn't mean his disapproval cuts any less deep. The quiet care and protection from Pennyworth is one of the few things preventing a full out teenage rebellion, but even that is a short-lived stopper against an ocean of impulsive action.
"I'm sure you have suggestions for when I reach that inevitable crossroad, though."
no subject
The chest tube, clearing his lung of fluid as it recovers, is hooked to a depository bag, soundly secured to the surrounding equipment. Tim scowls at the setup--but he really can't go anywhere as long as it's still necessary. "...How long has it been, anyway?"
no subject
Not to mention Tim looks rough. But stubborn recognizes stubborn, and Damian offers neither assistance in sitting up nor fussing about how he really shouldn't push it. He looks away from the struggle under the guise of giving Tim some privacy, to the stack of books and other bland methods of self entertainment. "If you want something else from upstairs, I'll get it for you."
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Even the police." Who probably have it now, if anyone cleared up the crime scene. "Did the cops clean up? Or Bruce?"
no subject
Thinking about it makes Damian tense, grind his teeth. The diameter of that pool of blood had toed across the line from alarming to panic. Splatter from Five had probably hit the ceiling. Shoulda killed'm.
"Father was...preoccupied. Here." From the confines of his sweatshirt pocket comes whatever the latest generation of iPhone is, flop-tossed unceremoniously onto Tim's lap and Damian moves to sit in the nearby companion seat, dragging the notepad and pencils along with him. "If you've calls to make, make them before he gets home."
no subject
He glances up to Damian over the composition of what amounts to an "I'm out of the office" message. "Is he ignoring you? Or just playing Stepford about the job?"
no subject
Not looking up, mildly smothering a snort. “I’m grounded and he’s still working, so. The ignoring is mutual.”