#batricide

“You have full run of the estate, if you’re hungry simply call for one of the servants and they’ll provide you with whatever it is you need.”

The tour is brief, there’s not much to show that the boy likely hasn’t already seen and he has a feeling he’d have a better time simply letting the child be better acquainted with his new home by himself. The dining room, the living room, the personal gym and the boy’s own room that’d been a guest room hastily converted for more long-term living. They come to a stop at the backyard that stretches into the Viridian Forest.

Drags pillow over his head and rolls over.

“Whoa, what died in your cereal?” Jason asks. He’d turned around for a moment in the kitchen, and when he heard a chair pull out, he only assumed his teenager had finally dragged his ass out of bed. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was the glare that Damian was giving to the bowl of cereal he’d poured out but has yet to add milk to.

“Coffee?” he asks rhetorically. His son runs off caffeine as much as he does, and he sets the mug down by Damian’s hand, already sweetened just as he knows he likes it. “C’mon, you can’t have had that bad a night, did you? Unless you tried sneaking out of the house again, in which case, you knew it was a school night so sucks to be you.”

temporary starter call

               Frustration coursed through him. If it was anyone else other than him, maybe they would have figured out how to save the damn future. But it was just Terry, and Terry felt stupider than a goldfish dying in molasses. He was tired (how sick of he was saying that, how long had he been saying it, when would it end?). He’d meant to try and inform, to pass on the information that Bruce had given him. He could hear A.L.F.R.E.D in his ear, trying to give him info, but all he could hear was a jumbled mess.

              Terry turned to say something; maybe about how he didn’t know everything, about how he wasn’t Bruce Wayne with all of his damned intelligence, that he was just some kid from the streets pretending to be normal. The dizziness hit him like a sledgehammer instead and he swayed hard, losing his words to slurred speech. A hand reached out to find something to hold him upright. When was the last time he’d slept for more than a twenty minute power nap? When was the last time he ate? He felt like he was still running around fighting in that war--but instead it was against time and who won against that?