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Drake was late.
He knew the time he was supposed to pick Damian up. He even had studied here for two years after going to live with Bruce, he knew when last period ended. After all, Gotham Academy hadn't changed its classes' time since after the Civil War.
"Tt," Damian murmured to the mostly empty parking lot. He shoved his stiff hands deep into his uniform's pockets. Winter had just begun leaving the evenings darker than they should be and the breeze in a razor sharp cold. Pennyworth was right. Perhaps it was time to star wearing a scarf. It would have stopped his teeth from chattering.
But of course, none of it would've been a problem if Father let him drive.
"Damian, dear? You still here?" Miss Mercer, the arts teacher asked him. She was still wearing her paint stained overalls, some green confetti stuck in her hair. Her arms were full of the projects they had made this morning, and he spot the corner of his hummingbird aquarela. It had been a fairly decent piece. "Where's your ride?"
"Late." He answered curtly.
He didn't despise Miss Mercer as much as the other teachers. She was patient and kind with the other kid's below average works and always gave him helpful advice. It didn't hurt she remembered him slightly of a scarred fox, with her narrow face, orange hair and forever wide round dark eyes.
"I see," A harsh wind blew against them and the teacher shuddered visibly. "Don't you wanna call them? Or at least wait inside...?"
"I am fine," he shifted his gaze to the desert road. "He will be here soon." What had he done to cross Drake so much he thought being this late was justifiable? Nothing he could remember. The teen had barely been at the manor lately, only showing up before patrol. The previous Robin was an infantile idiot if for a second, he believed there would be no consequences for such an irresponsible act.
"I could give you a ride," Miss Mercer was saying still shivering slightly under her polka dot dress and furry jacket. Damian furrowed his brow irritated. "What?"
"It is out of your way."
"You don't know where I live."
Except he did. In a small apartment over a bakery with her sister and two siamese cats. Robin had seen her painting a canvas through her window a few weeks back while grappling through West Downtown. "No one lives near the Manor," he chose to answer. Only the Drakes used to. And it was precisely the last remaining one Damian was picturing to kill.
"It's okay," she shifted the weight of a pile of small canvas, sketch notebooks and assorted papers on her arms. "I don't have any plans for the night."
"Tt." They fell silent for a second. Damian glanced at his phone checking the time and for messages. He should inform Pennyworth or Father about Drake's proven incompetence once again, though it was an obvious, well known fact. He sniffed before shoving impatiently the device back to his pocket. If he got benched after getting a cold for this...
"I’m not leaving until you do. With me or not, I'm not leaving a child on the..."
"Don’t need a babysitter." His words came out clipped by his tighten jaw. The temperature was still dropping, and the bay's wind was not helping at all.
"I'm your teacher. I have responsibilities towards you. Maybe… if not your house, then mine? Call your dad and I'll talk to him. We can talk about art while drinking tea."
"Will you introduce me to your cats?" He asked sounding painfully hopeful to his own ears. The teacher frowned confused "You showed us a sketch of them on our realism class." The amend seemed to convince her.
"Sure,” She cracked a smile, relived by the sudden brightness of his expression. “Mic and Magritte need some new friends. They're getting way too lazy for their own good."
Damian nodded satisfied before fishing his phone out of his pocket again and speed dialing his dad. When voicemail picked up, he left a message.
"Father? It's Damian speaking, Damian Wayne. Drake failed on being punctual, therefore I'm leaving with Miss Mercer to her apartment."
"Tell him my address." She murmured to him motioning to his phone with her head, but he had already ended the call.
"I left a message," He stood picking up his backpack from the ground and began typing a message to Alfred. "Do not worry, Miss Mercer. He will know where we are."
The teacher huffed impatiently, already moving towards her car. "The last thing I need is Bruce Wayne showing up at my door claiming I kidnapped his son," Damian opened his mouth to answer but she shut him off. "And it's Miss Anna. Or simply Anna. I told you that a million times already. Help me with the trunk."
He had just buckled up when an ambulance passed full on the road by the parking lot. Something tingled in his spine. What if something was wrong? Maybe there was a breakout? Some alien invasion while he was still in class? That would explain Drake’s unusual lateness. He’d sure waste no time usurping his place to fight alongside Batman.
“May I turn the radio on?” He asked while the teacher was still searching for her keys on an oversized orange bag.
If they were out there, capes on still so early, he had to know, had to be a part of it. He was Robin, Batman’s legitimate partner, they couldn’t let him out. They wouldn’t.
Would they?
“Go ahead.” He pressed the power button and quickly surfed through the channels until he found a news one.
“…rious accident on Jefferson Bridge just now. Police have confirmed the crash of a truck and a smaller vehicle, apparently a red Tesla.” Damian felt like puking.
“We have to…” His lips were dry, and he attempted to swallow the bits of panic starting to creep up on him. “I think…” He started again as Miss Mercer held her car keys victoriously in one hand. Her smile slid of her lips the second she noticed the pallor of his face.
“Damian?”
“My brother drives a red Tesla.” He blurted out, voice cracking on the last words. The teacher seemed confused for a moment, then her eyes grew wide.
“Jefferson Bridge is not far,” She said already turning the engine on and speeding, a sudden fierceness on her movements. “It’s probably not him.” Her lips were firmly in a line and
Damian found himself clutching at his seatbelt, throat aching around an odd lump.
“He usually takes the bridge.” Drake, the dumb idiot, enjoyed the view from over the polluted Gotham river, for some reason, ignoring the fastest way through the express road.
“Maybe not today. He knew he was late, he’d try to hurry.” For as much as Damian hated to admit Drake was extremely responsible and disciplined. He would try to compensate the time lost by taking a faster way.
“Yeah, exactly.” The teacher sent him a side glance and closed her lips tightly. On the radio, a discussion about the early winter coming had taken place. Damian turned to his phone. No missed calls, no texts. He should have thought about it. Why had it never crossed his mind something bad had happened? Surely, Drake was a nuisance, but still, a mildly skilled one. Even him could avoid something as mundane as a car accident. “We’re here.”
Damian looked up. A few miles from them the red and blue lights of police cars and ambulances shone in the dark. He perked up in hi seat, straining his eyes to actually see the scene. A big garbage trunk was blocking the road just at the beginning of the bridge, mostly unscathed. Apparently, it had come down the side street and was unable to break or turn in time. It would have easily broken the guard rail and fallen front first into the murky waters. Instead, it had caught a red car right on the passenger’s side that while slowing it down, was crushed against the bridge’s guard rail. By its side, paramedics were settling somebody on the gurney.
Before knowing it, Damian jumped out of the car, door slamming behind him just as Miss Mercer called his name.
He had to check, had to know. Drake was never that late, not without sending a message first. He should’ve known something was wrong. He should have tried to call him, should have contacted Father after that first half an hour sitting on the wind. Should have made the way to the manor on foot and met him halfway. He should have known something was wrong. He was Robin, he was trained to read the evidence. Instead he had acted like a child, sulking at the school’s doorsteps.
“You cannot be here, son.” An officer grabbed at him and he shoved back at the man.
“Get off me!” He bellowed, rushing to the crash site. The paramedics were rolling the gurney to the ambulance, a mop of black hair visible under the foil blanket. His heart was threatening to pull out of his chest. His fault. Drake was hurt and it was his fault. Father would be furious and he could already see Grayson’s broken face while…
“You can’t be here, boy!” the officer had grabbed at his arm again and Damian opened his mouth to bite at the man’s wrist. He had a goal, no one would be on his way, not unless…
“Damian?” His head snapped back towards the voice behind him. “What’re you doing?” The officer let go of him again and his knees shook in relief. Tim Drake was there, standing in his two feet, full suit still on, his own red Tesla parked a few feet from the ambulance, intact. Drake was fine. Completely fine.
And Damian was livid.
“Where were you?” He barked at Tim, already stomping in his direction, fists clenching on his sides. The teen seemed to falter for a second, brow slightly furrowed in confusion. He opened his moth to say something, but Damian would have none of it. “I waited for you!” he aimed his fist for the jaw but ended up connecting to Tim’s open palm lifted in a weak defense.
“Damian, what’s…?”
“No!” He punched again, this time connecting to Tim’s chest. “I hate you!” His throat was tight, his eyes moist against his will. “You idiot moron!” He punched at Drake’s chest again and his fists stayed there, his arms starting to tremble in each ragged breath. “I fucking hate you Drake!”.
Slender warm hands took his wrists gently and pulled them down, then slowly trailed up his arms stopping at his shoulders, but Damian could face nothing, but the pavement under his feet. His entire body shook, and he blamed it on the cold. “You weren’t there.” He was mumbling now, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, sobs scaping his lips. “You never showed and then I thought… your car…”
“Oh, Dames.” Drake kneeled in front of him, his voice was gentle and soft, the way he talked to scared victims and lost children. It made Damian want to punch him again. “I know. I’m sorry. I closed my eyes for a second after a meeting and then…” he trailed off and Damian looked up. Tim looked worried and sad and tired all at the same time, a ragged version of the familiar look he had carried around the entire week. He squeezed Damian’s shoulders and offered him a half smile. “I’m really sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Tt,” Damian wiped quickly at his eyes, the tightness on his ribs lessening by the second. “I wasn’t scared.”
“Well, I was.” Miss Mercer said from behind Drake, a shy grin on her lips, her eyes shinning with unshed tears. “I’m Anna. Damian’s teacher. I was giving him a ride. I’m glad you’re fine.”
“I’m Tim, Damian’s brother.” He said standing and shaking her hand. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
“I can take care of myself, Drake.” Damian said feeling the usual irritation towards his older brother returning. “And we were going to discuss art in the company of her cats,” Drake’s brows raised in surprise. “Your arrival is an inconvenience to our plans.”
“Damian!” Miss Mercer exclaimed faking outrageousness.
“It’s fine, really.” Drake shrugged and turned to Damian, a weird look on his face. He still very much remembered what it felt like being the last kid to be picked up, the tension of waiting, the painfull realization no one would show up. “Do you still want to go?”
“Yes. I wish to honor the invitation.”
Drake smirked before running a hand on Damian’s hair messing the kid's soft, thick strands. The lack of complaints on the boy's side a clear note on how much he had screwed up that night. He turned to face the teacher who nod briefly at him “Okay. Go ahead.” Damian looked pleased and then walked to Miss Mercer, who wrapper an arm around his shoulders.
“We should be done by 7.” Damian said back to Drake, his bossy tone indicating a command. It was Drake’s turn to nod.
“I’ll be there. Punctually.”
“You better.”