The 'phony bullshit' -- [ How do curse words sound so prim and proper coming from him? Is this an effect of being essentially raised by Alfred? ] -- still helps. Makes the nights go easier than going without.
[ But Damian knows what Jason means, his tone a shade or two gentler than his usual chastisement. He's had the unique experience of waking late in the morning, close to noon, content and warm and pleasantly, unguardedly muzzy, after falling asleep one December night in front of a dying fire to the sounds of the TV going; with Timothy pressed to his side and Cassandra using his chest as a pillow, and Jason sprawled every which way atop all three of them. Even Titus had been warming his heels. ]
Text it is, then.
[ Even though it's easy to see how tempting it is to give Tim his little daily dosage of grief. Some things haven't changed much in the years Jason's been gone, and Tim and Damian's strange, supportive, but entirely passive-aggressive relationship is one of them. Damian remains shameless as ever about how much he enjoys needling the second son, fending off Jason's stare with a click of his tongue, even as he fishes his cell phone from one of the pockets of the belt still clipped around the teenager's waist.
(It always drives Bruce to distraction whenever Damian starts playing with it during patrol. The eldest Wayne boy is surgically attached to his smart device.)
His message is brief and to the point: ]
OMW. ETA 3 hours. J says hi.
[ And then sets it aside, blithely ignoring the way it's suddenly blowing up with messages, screen flickering brightly with rapid-fire text.
(Acknowledged. Will alert B and A and prep for incoming. Status?
no subject
[ But Damian knows what Jason means, his tone a shade or two gentler than his usual chastisement. He's had the unique experience of waking late in the morning, close to noon, content and warm and pleasantly, unguardedly muzzy, after falling asleep one December night in front of a dying fire to the sounds of the TV going; with Timothy pressed to his side and Cassandra using his chest as a pillow, and Jason sprawled every which way atop all three of them. Even Titus had been warming his heels. ]
Text it is, then.
[ Even though it's easy to see how tempting it is to give Tim his little daily dosage of grief. Some things haven't changed much in the years Jason's been gone, and Tim and Damian's strange, supportive, but entirely passive-aggressive relationship is one of them. Damian remains shameless as ever about how much he enjoys needling the second son, fending off Jason's stare with a click of his tongue, even as he fishes his cell phone from one of the pockets of the belt still clipped around the teenager's waist.
(It always drives Bruce to distraction whenever Damian starts playing with it during patrol. The eldest Wayne boy is surgically attached to his smart device.)
His message is brief and to the point: ]
OMW. ETA 3 hours. J says hi.
[ And then sets it aside, blithely ignoring the way it's suddenly blowing up with messages, screen flickering brightly with rapid-fire text.
(Acknowledged. Will alert B and A and prep for incoming. Status?
...
D, what's the sit-rep? Is he okay?
...
D, you asshole--)
He has to needle Tim a little. ]