The harsh reality of the situation was that Bruce Wayne had never been much for making friends. He'd never been the social outcast, though sometimes you suspect he may not have entirely minded, he'd always been popular, but people flocked to him, threw themselves on him, and he either tolerated it or he didn't. Even in those intolerant moments he was usually polite, civil, well-bred. But not friendly. He wasn't overly friendly
( ... )
Harry wasn't sure what he expected when the door opened and he saw Bruce. Pictures didn't exactly do the transformation justice. Then again, they had all changed. Harry was never going to grow the way Bruce had, he wasn't built that way, but he wasn't fifteen anymore. He'd filled out a little, grew into his height, but he still looked young.
Sometimes he wondered if that would always be the case. That he would continually straddle the line between man and child. His father said he refused to grow up. Harry figured anyone who had Goblin lairs and headed some superhero group called the fucking Thunderbolts wasn't one to mock someone's inability to mature.
"I always have a smile for the camera. Luckily for Starkland, a bunch of reporters had already made their way to see the miraculous return of Bruce Wayne. He should send you a fruit basket as a thank you."
There was a small smile and then he said in a tone of disbelief, "Wow, you're really alive. That's crazy."
This is true, in a way, he had always been the one least likely to end up drunk in public or having overdosed or whatever. His tantrums were generally private ones, hidden from the view of prying eyes. In public Bruce had always managed that sheen of infuriating perfection and composure.
And, of course, it made no sense at all that in the end he was the one who couldn't make it through college, he was the one who would just disappear.
Or perhaps it did make sense. Bruce always did what he felt he should do. There was never the sense you could influence him, sway his conviction. Not in school when teachers and kids both tried. Not in college. Not later, even. R'as found that out the hard way.
"It's not so crazy for me. I'm accustomed to the habit."
Harry had been quiet once. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but he had been. He was the quiet child who barely took a step without care because he didn't want to anger his father. He'd been a child who could anger his father by simply breathing
( ... )
Comments 7
Reply
Sometimes he wondered if that would always be the case. That he would continually straddle the line between man and child. His father said he refused to grow up. Harry figured anyone who had Goblin lairs and headed some superhero group called the fucking Thunderbolts wasn't one to mock someone's inability to mature.
"I always have a smile for the camera. Luckily for Starkland, a bunch of reporters had already made their way to see the miraculous return of Bruce Wayne. He should send you a fruit basket as a thank you."
There was a small smile and then he said in a tone of disbelief, "Wow, you're really alive. That's crazy."
Reply
"I've always been the boring one."
This is true, in a way, he had always been the one least likely to end up drunk in public or having overdosed or whatever. His tantrums were generally private ones, hidden from the view of prying eyes. In public Bruce had always managed that sheen of infuriating perfection and composure.
And, of course, it made no sense at all that in the end he was the one who couldn't make it through college, he was the one who would just disappear.
Or perhaps it did make sense. Bruce always did what he felt he should do. There was never the sense you could influence him, sway his conviction. Not in school when teachers and kids both tried. Not in college. Not later, even. R'as found that out the hard way.
"It's not so crazy for me. I'm accustomed to the habit."
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment