“So…,” he started, stepping into the cave where Terry was currently sulking his heart out. “You’re staring at that screen to remind yourself of how much you seem to hate that kid?” He still couldn’t understand why he had to be so difficult, why he had to be so disapproving of a teenager who didn’t come off as being the annoying little monster you would think he’d have to be, for Terry to frown on him like he did. Virgil was just a kid and he was going to have faults. Bruce was willing to deal with those faults but Terry wasn’t and he wouldn’t make him, wouldn’t force him. Trying to get him to see things in a different light would make their complication all the worse and Bruce didn’t want to have to deal with that.
The amour was there, as it always was, waiting, more enticing than he thought it would be tonight. Batman didn’t coddle upset kids who wanted to whine and sulk because they weren’t getting what they wanted. Batman didn’t put up with irritable, moody teenage boys. Batman was allowed to be stern and cold, a shadow who barked out orders and expected to be obeyed. He didn’t accept anything else. However, Bruce Wayne couldn’t channel that attitude all the time. He couldn’t be that way twenty four hours a day.
He folded his arms across his chest and came in deeper, trailed his sight to the screen. “You don’t even have to speak to him if you don’t want to. I’m not asking you to be his best friend.”