[He's still mumbling denials and refusals, trying to will the world back to what he thought it was. Nothing around them has actually changed, it doesn't change anything in his memories from the last few weeks, but somehow knowing that the world's been going on and changing without him makes the winter seem that much more cold. Heck, Damian wasn't even born when the Court had taken him in.
Even with the orignal cast and acts, you couldn't stay the same in show business for twenty years. Maybe the Court had been right in telling him to forget about everything from before. A part of him wishes he had listened more.
He starts when he feels Damian's hands, his muscles tensing in resistance-- but the touch is warm, gentle, and still firm. He quiets his mumbles and distress, tries to breathe and takes deep breaths and let the fresh air fill him up like before. Tries to look up and focus on the boy in front of him, but his eyes are misty and wet when he opens them, and on top of everything else he's trying not to completely cry. But after this display it's impossible to deny: he's weak.
Not alone. Damian said he wasn't alone, and despite their initial conflict, he's never lied to him before, even if he sure feels like he is.
He focuses on the warmth. Loosens his grip, lowers his hands away from his neck and let's himself lean into the touch. Still shaking, but it's a start, and his voice is soft but trying to sounds even.] Wh-- What am I supposed-- what do I do now?
[Damian's the only person that's given him any kind of explanations or answers or-- anything. He wouldn't know who else to ask, and he can't think of anything on his own, because all he can think of is going back to the Court. Maybe this was why Batman had always seemed so grim while talking to him.]
no subject
Even with the orignal cast and acts, you couldn't stay the same in show business for twenty years. Maybe the Court had been right in telling him to forget about everything from before. A part of him wishes he had listened more.
He starts when he feels Damian's hands, his muscles tensing in resistance-- but the touch is warm, gentle, and still firm. He quiets his mumbles and distress, tries to breathe and takes deep breaths and let the fresh air fill him up like before. Tries to look up and focus on the boy in front of him, but his eyes are misty and wet when he opens them, and on top of everything else he's trying not to completely cry. But after this display it's impossible to deny: he's weak.
Not alone. Damian said he wasn't alone, and despite their initial conflict, he's never lied to him before, even if he sure feels like he is.
He focuses on the warmth. Loosens his grip, lowers his hands away from his neck and let's himself lean into the touch. Still shaking, but it's a start, and his voice is soft but trying to sounds even.] Wh-- What am I supposed-- what do I do now?
[Damian's the only person that's given him any kind of explanations or answers or-- anything. He wouldn't know who else to ask, and he can't think of anything on his own, because all he can think of is going back to the Court. Maybe this was why Batman had always seemed so grim while talking to him.]