I didn't see any of them break into your house recently.
[It was disgruntled and spiteful sounding, but he knows; they've been watching.
But he doesn't expect the... frankness. The bluntness, yes (he doesn't expect anyone to dance around his own feelings, they never have), but he didn't expect to hear Robin sympathizing, in what seems to be his own, weird way.
It's been forever since anyone's actually referred to him as a child in some way that isn't just disbelief at his size before he slit their throat. And Damian's apparently younger than him. The situation was too surreal for his outward hostility to really last that long.
He curls over himself further, a stiff way of trying to rest-- closes his eyes. Tries to think.
When he clears his mind, when he really tries-- when there's finally another option, when someone who may not be very friendly but is still trying to help offers another path, when there's no faceless masks and beady eyes beating down on him and only giving him the illusion that he has the choice as long as he makes the one they deem acceptable--]
I don't want to go back.
[He's terrified of going back. And this time he doesn't try and hide the pure fear and loneliness from cracking his voice, or the shake of his shoulders as he squeezes tighter at the material over his stomach.]
I wanna go home. [He knows its impossible. But he wishes so badly, just for right now, that he could.]
no subject
[It was disgruntled and spiteful sounding, but he knows; they've been watching.
But he doesn't expect the... frankness. The bluntness, yes (he doesn't expect anyone to dance around his own feelings, they never have), but he didn't expect to hear Robin sympathizing, in what seems to be his own, weird way.
It's been forever since anyone's actually referred to him as a child in some way that isn't just disbelief at his size before he slit their throat. And Damian's apparently younger than him. The situation was too surreal for his outward hostility to really last that long.
He curls over himself further, a stiff way of trying to rest-- closes his eyes. Tries to think.
When he clears his mind, when he really tries-- when there's finally another option, when someone who may not be very friendly but is still trying to help offers another path, when there's no faceless masks and beady eyes beating down on him and only giving him the illusion that he has the choice as long as he makes the one they deem acceptable--]
I don't want to go back.
[He's terrified of going back. And this time he doesn't try and hide the pure fear and loneliness from cracking his voice, or the shake of his shoulders as he squeezes tighter at the material over his stomach.]
I wanna go home. [He knows its impossible. But he wishes so badly, just for right now, that he could.]