etrayalogs | ( closed ) bred, born, and raised to kick your ass

You're lacking a passenger seat.

( just pointing it out. in case bruce hadn't noticed. damian's head tips back, looking to bruce over his shoulder. )

I would move the nitrous oxide system.

( he stares back at him. then, dryly: )

I work alone. Remember?

( his explanation for not having a passenger seat. )

Not anymore.

( damian's here now. and he's climbing right into the car, into the driver's seat.

since there's no passenger seat. )

( the dashboard is to be expected of any batmobile. screens, lights, computer, along with the usual things one finds in a car. not as advanced as it will come to eventually be, but. he'll get there. for now, this does everything it needs to do for him.

damian climbs in and bruce's brow furrows, hand coming up to rest atop the driver door. )

What are you doing?

Checking your setup.

( he's not planning on driving it. instead, he's just scooting forward until he's almost falling off the seat of the batmobile, and - fusses with a few of the controls. runs a gloved finger over them, mouthing what does what quietly to himself, as if he's working to memorize it. )

I've modified vehicles before, including improving Batman's. We can shift the inside to leave room for an additional seat.

( there's a sort of look he gives him that damian might be familiar with from his own father— from the bruce wayne much older and has a relationship with him spanning over... however many years now. while it may be younger in comparison, the look is still very much similar and he doesn't even know it himself.

his hand still rests there atop the door, blue eyes staring through the greasepaint to damian in the driver's seat. quiet. considering. sighing a moment later. )

You're not going to let this go until there's a passenger seat, are you?

Would you prefer if I climbed on top of your equipment?

( damian doesn't care. he's fairly safe regardless, the robin uniform was made to take hits, and if he gets thrown around - well. it happens. what's bruce going to do, take him out of the car? damian pushes one foot up onto the middle console, and climbs over to where the passenger seat would be. if there was one. )

If we can get enough equipment I could make several useful modifications to your batmobile.

( again. there's that look. )

And where do you plan on getting this equipment from?

I'll figure it out.

( or he'll just get his own batmobile. just to prove a point. )

( he's just going to... sigh. a little. )

I'd have to rearrange everything for a passenger seat. Not to mention find the seat itself.

( since a lot of the interior of the car is just... not there, what with bruce having removed it and all. )

I'll handle it.

( look, he's already starting to pull at things. but it's clear damian knows what he's doing, too. he wasn't lying: this isn't his first time rearranging a batmobile. )

I need time on the ground to recover anyway.

( he's about a half a second away from saying he doesn't let anyone mess around with his car but his focus shifts to what damian says after and he looks to him. brows furrowed again. )

Recover from what?

Minor leg injury.

( he's wearing his knee-high boots, laced up and tight. there's no visible injury, and damian's not standing, so he isn't - noticeably favoring a leg at all. )

I'm functional, just not at my best.

( slowly, he looks to damian's leg, then back up to his face. )

What happened?

I had other responsibilities to attend to.

( avoiding answering bruce isn't the right way to go about this. especially given the demands damian has been making of bruce himself lately. he knows this. damian unhooks one of the tanks, then looks up to bruce. )

There was a duplicate I needed to disarm. One who was, unfortunately, quite close to my skill level.

What's the injury?

( he can't simply expect to say he's not at his best and leave it at that. not after the fuss he made about getting that cream for the cat scratches he had endured. )

( he'd roll his eyes, but. trust goes two ways, and damian isn't going to be able to get bruce to trust him with his wounds if he doesn't spill his own. )

Just a graze. He knew where my armor was weakest and aimed his gun at my ankle.

( ... )

You were shot.

( it's not a question. )

Just a little.

( this tank is unnecessary, and damian is shoving open the passenger side door to drop it down onto the ground. )

No, we’re not- let me see.

( he’s rounding the car. heading over to the passenger side. all of this can wait. he’s currently trying to wrangle with whatever it is he’s feeling at the thought of damian having been shot and just playing it off as if it were a hangnail.

maybe this is how alfred feels with him and his injuries. )

( this is what he gets for mentioning it. bruce walks over to the passenger side door, close to where damian's currently dropping cords and miscellaneous other pieces that are in the way of the space he's making for himself, making a nuisance of himself in the way bruce is well-known for.

damian could tell him off. almost considers it, if the sour look that comes across his face says anything. instead, he's sitting down on the car floor where the nitro tank had been, and raises his left boot to start unlacing it. )

It's not that much of a hindrance.

( he's fine. fine enough to jump around without worrying about messing his foot up more, fine enough to fit his boot back on, although it becomes clear once it's off that it's mostly fitting because he's been loosening his laces then tightening them enough it compresses, hard. his ankle's wrapped up tight, gauze to the left stained red. as damian unwraps it - it becomes clear that drake's aim had been intentional. it had caught right between the joints of his armor, sliced through a good bit of skin where his foot meets his shin. but the stitches already in place, while a few have ripped, were done by someone with significant first-aid knowledge: they're neat, spaced perfectly apart to help avoid any of them ripping open (even if some had, it's unavoidable with the way damian moves) and well-cared for.

damian has enough scars already. he knows better than to leave a wound sitting. )

( stop dismantling his car, kiddo.

he bends at the knee. waits for damian to remove his boot and show the injury. it's wrapped— stitched and he seems to have taken care of it, best he can. there's been a number of nights — of early mornings — when alfred has done similar to him, or walked in on him patching himself up.

bruce reaches out and is gentle in the way he takes damian's heel into the palm of a hand, wanting to get a better look at it. he lets his gaze linger on the dressing, flicks it up to damian, then drops it down again. a moment of quiet consideration, he looks back up to damian. )

Give it a day or two. Stay off it.

( stay out of trouble. )

Yes, Father.

( said significantly more like the thirteen-year-old child he is than the pretentious asshole damian generally acts like. he doesn't fight bruce off when he goes to take a closer look; mostly because damian wasn't understating it, this time. he had allowed drake's bullet to hit, knowing it may cause damage to ligaments and joints but also knowing how unlikely it was from the angle he was shooting at. walking and leaping from surface to surface has been mildly painful, but manageable. if it hadn't been, damian wouldn't have been able to keep himself up without a noticeable limp.

but they're not there yet. and he's haphazardly re-wrapping his ankle enough so he can shove his boot back on over it. tighten the laces. )

Unlike others I am familiar with, I recognize the importance of allowing myself to heal before I make injuries worse.

( bruce.

he means bruce. )

( he lets go of damian's heel and watches as he wraps it up and slips it back into his boot. as he takes the time to lace it up tightly. a very slight raise of a brow, he huffs a bit, licking over his lips. a fleeting glance away. )

Was expecting you to fight me on that a little.

( as he'd fought him on being here with him. on being robin with him. )

Are you planning to go out without me?

( the smallest, barely-there hint of a grin as damian pulls the laces tight before knotting them up high. )

Because I will follow you.

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