Chapter Text
Chapter 1
If there was one thing Damian Wayne hated, it was waiting - enduring long, empty minutes in which there was nothing to occupy his bored mind.
Not all waiting was horrendous. He could, of course, handle the dull inactivity of a long stakeout or the anticipation of watching for the perfect moment to strike at an unaware villain - those were moments he could bear, or even enjoy. They went hand-in-hand with being Robin, and that was something that Damian loved.
This, though . . .
This was simply nothing.
He was sitting in the back seat of the car, waiting for Father to finally free himself from the sycophantic hangers-on who seemed intent on ingratiating themselves to him whenever they saw him. That was the only explanation for his father's continued tardiness. It shouldn't be taking this long. How hard could it be to disentangle himself from the bottom-feeders of the corporate world? It was hardly a gala or fundraising event, after all. It was a simple meeting and Father himself had believed it would prove to be straightforward and resolved quickly.
Apparently, he had been mistaken.
Damian sighed, instantly berating himself for the outward sign of weakness. He hadn't been waiting all that long, after all. Certainly, it wasn't as though he'd been looking forward to this moment all day. It wasn't as though he'd been forced to endure a pointless half-day of school for the sole purpose of an inane assembly, followed by a long drive from his ridiculous private school to the foot of Wayne Tower all so he could wait even longer for his father to free himself from a group of adults who apparently couldn't function without ingratiating themselves to him.
No. Damian was not impatient. He was imperturbable.
A quick glance to the front seat assured him that Pennyworth had either not heard his earlier sigh, or was choosing not to comment. Either way, Damian set his jaw and resumed staring out the window.
Any minute now, Father would emerge from Wayne Enterprises and make his way to the waiting vehicle. Any minute now, they would be on their way to their promised father-son bonding event to commemorate the first day of summer vacation and Damian would no longer be stuck waiting in the backseat of a rapidly-warming car.
Any minute now.
Any . . . minute . . . now.
He hit the button to lower his window, which only served to let more humid air rush in. With another faint sigh, he put the window back up.
Summers in Gotham were intolerable.
Damian didn't mind heat, but the thick mugginess that took over Gotham during the summer was oppressive. It was like breathing liquid sometimes and it was uniquely capable of sapping his endurance during long, sweltering nights on the rooftops.
He wasn't certain, but he thought he might possibly hate the summer far more than the winter, though even Damian had to acknowledge that his opinion would probably change once the snow started to fall.
He realized he was still wearing his school blazer and frowned at his stupidity. There was no need for the restricting garment. He was free of school for the next several weeks and there was no point in maintaining the regulations of his imposed wardrobe any longer. With a little more relish than he usually allowed himself to express, Damian tugged at his tie, loosening the absurd affectation before pulling it over his head and tossing it on the seat beside him. He then shrugged out of the blazer, leaving it in a heap to get wrinkled or spontaneously combust in the heat - whichever happened first.
He didn't particularly care.
The small grimace he caught from Pennyworth could either have been disapproval at the wrinkling of his blazer or wordless commiseration. The butler was dressed in a full suit, and though he would never allow himself the luxury of being spotted performing his duties without proper attire, no matter how hot or uncomfortable he was, the temptation to shed some layers had to be present. Pennyworth was, after all, only human.
Damian tapped his fingers on the armrest.
How much longer -
Movement at the doors caught his attention and he found himself straightening.
People were definitely coming out in a large group. He recognized several of the well-dressed people making their way from the WE lobby.
Finally.
He almost let himself sigh in relief, but frowned instead as he caught a familiar dark-haired figure nearly lost in the sea of taller men and women.
Drake.
Damian scowled as he watched Drake step briskly down the steps towards the patterned brickwork courtyard at the base of the tower. He looked ridiculous in his suit, like a child trying to play dress-up to fit in with the grown-ups. Damian's frown deepened as several people stopped on the stairs to speak with Drake, who responded with smiles and handshakes.
Ridiculous.
As though they respected his opinion. As though they were doing anything but using Drake to get to Father. Drake was simply too simple-minded to see -
Another thought stuck him.
He hadn't realized Drake was going to be at the meeting with Father. Surely that didn't mean that Drake was also coming with them to lunch? Father had promised that it would be time for just the two of them, that he wanted to hear all about Damian's plans for the summer and Damian wouldn't have to share him with anyone and he would even turn off his phone . . .
It was supposed to be just the two of them.
Drake would ruin everything just by being there. It was inevitable.
Even when he tried, Damian knew he couldn't stop himself from speaking his mind. It wasn't his fault that Drake was overly sensitive and prone to taking offence. The first time Damian opened his mouth around him, Drake would claim Damian was being unfair, things would degenerate into a verbal sparring match, Father would get that pinched look above his eyes, and lunch would be cut short to prevent further disharmony.
It never failed.
It didn't matter if Damian was trying to be helpful or not, like the time he'd suggested that Drake might be taken more seriously at board meetings if he cut his hair to look less like a wind-swept vagabond. He'd made the comment in earnest - surely looking the part of a businessman involved more than simply dressing in a suit? - but Drake simply refused to see his words as anything but an outright attack designed to get under his skin.
Father had, of course, sided with Drake and chided Damian to be nice to his brother.
As if Drake could ever be his brother.
The teenager in question managed to disentangle himself from the group of suit-wearing gossips and finish making his way down the steps. Damian watched in growing relief as he reached the courtyard and didn't so much as glance over to the car. He clearly wasn't trying to find them, nor did he appear to be waiting for Father. He simply pulled out his phone and walked blindly into the crowded square, as though trusting that people would move for him.
Damian barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes. It would serve him right if he walked into someone.
He almost turned his attention back to the doors to await Father's imminent arrival when something else caught his eye.
Something was wrong.
Damian leaned forward, uncertain of what it was . . .
There.
Three people - two men and a woman - had been loitering near a large white van and were now moving with unmistakable purpose towards an oblivious Drake.
Damian's breath caught in his throat as the first man caught up to the teenager, reaching out a hand as though greeting an old friend. Drake looked up, clearly surprised, pulling back slightly as the man's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Whoever the man was, Drake obviously did not know him, and it was painfully apparent that the physical contact was unwelcome.
"Pennyworth, call Father!" Damian ordered, not bothering to wait for the butler's reply as he wrenched open the car door. He leapt from the vehicle, knowing instantly that he was likely too far away to fully prevent whatever was about to happen.
And whatever it was, it was nothing good.
Even as he raced to Drake's aid, Damian cursed the milling crowd that impeded his progress. The second man had already reached Drake, who was still trying to shrug off the first man's hand.
Red Robin could have dropped both men in a second flat, but Timothy Drake-Wayne, at least in the minds of all the civilians who knew him, had no such skills. In the crowded walkway, Drake was like any other Gothamite - utterly useless.
Drake stumbled then, staggering backwards as he swatted at the second man in evident surprise. His phone dropped to the ground, only to be crushed under the foot of the first man as he grabbed a fistful of Drake's suit jacket and began to pull him towards the waiting van.
Damian let out a battle cry as a final burst of speed saw him reaching the would-be kidnappers.
And suddenly, chaos reigned.
People screamed as Damian launched himself onto the back of the first man, the one with an iron grip on the scruff of Drake's jacket. The man let go with a cry of shock as Damian punched him in the kidney with ruthless efficiency.
The villain would not be permitted to escape with Drake. As much as Damian hated him, Drake also carried Father's name. He was a Wayne in the eyes of the world and an attack on him was an attack on his father's honour. Such an outrage could not be tolerated.
Damian growled as he clung to the kidnapper, who bucked wildly in an attempt to dislodge him. He wanted to drop the man where he stood. He wanted to break him and make him beg for mercy, but even as he seethed at the affront being made to his family name, he restrained himself.
He couldn't fight the way he wanted to. He was Damian Wayne and was as much a prisoner to his civilian guise as Drake was currently.
Speaking of Drake . . .
The older boy was doing nothing to save himself. He wasn't taking advantage of the distraction Damian was providing. As far as Damian could tell, he hadn't even gotten in a hit against his attackers. Instead, he was letting himself get dragged to the van by the other man and the woman, who had rushed up to Drake's side the moment Damian had grabbed the first man.
Drake was stumbling, his hands making ineffective fists as he squirmed inadequately against the hold he found himself in. He would never free himself that way! Even a civilian would have been able to launch a better defence than that!
What was that imbecile doing?
And then Damian spotted the empty syringe on the flagstones.
He let the anger take him for a moment, dropping from the kidnapper's back and kicking out with enough strength that he felt the man's knee pop out of its socket. The man dropped in a harsh cry of agony which was echoed by the shocked cries of the onlookers still gathered around them, but Damian didn't care. Let the gawkers see it. Let them think it was a lucky hit.
He. Didn't. Care.
His rage didn't even surprise him. He might not care about Drake, but to drug an opponent and leave him with no chance to defend himself was the height of dishonour. It was a matter on which his grandfather disagreed, but Damian felt very strongly about it. There was no way he was letting these people drag a drugged and apparently more-helpless-than-usual Drake to whatever fate they intended for him.
The kidnappers swore as Damian struck. He went for the man first, leaping on him in an attempt to bring him down. He held out a small hope that the woman would be slowed down trying to hold Drake's weight, but she was either stronger than she looked, or Drake's confused stumbling was working in her favour, because she was still successfully nearing the van even as Damian tangled with the large man.
The woman opened the door, hopping into the van and pulling at Drake until he fell partially into the vehicle after her. Time seemed to slow as Damian let out a curse that would have made Todd laugh and Richard despair. He met Drake's unfocused gaze as the teenager's head sagged forward. He was still conscious, but likely wouldn't be for long. Whatever he had been given was alarmingly fast-acting. The woman tugged again, dragging Drake's feet into the van even as the driver leaned over and shouted at Damian's opponent to hurry.
Damian cursed again.
Where was Father?
With anger seething through him, Damian knew he wasn't going to win the fight without resorting to attacks far beyond the capabilities of a typical pre-teen. He could either fight like Robin in front of countless witnesses, or hope that father would be able to track Drake when the kidnappers absconded with him.
Because it was no longer a question of if they got away. With Drake already in the van and Damian's opponent a matter of steps away, the window of opportunity was closing quickly.
It was over more quickly than Damian anticipated.
His opponent stopped trying to dislodge him and simply jumped the last few feet into the van, screaming at the driver to move even as he landed ungracefully on top of Drake. Damian found himself thrown heavily into the side of the van, squished between the metal wall and the solid form of the kidnapper as he slammed Damian against the hard surface again and again.
Damian's head hit the wall hard enough that he lost his grip and fell to the floor.
Ears ringing, he barely registered that the van door was already shut and they were clearly moving. The van rocked violently as the driver took a sharp turn at a highly inadvisable speed.
There was no more time to come up with a plan. He needed to end this now. He grabbed at the man, intent on bringing him down -
The woman pulled a gun, aiming it at his head with a furious scowl. "Stop it, kid. Right now!"
Damian sneered back, but stilled. The man sank to the floor beside him, resting his back against the van door. Damian hoped it would open and spill him onto the road.
He kept his attention on the woman with the gun, who was adjusting her grip as though unused to handling weaponry. That at least was a good sign and Damian filed the information away for future use.
She was standing over Drake's prone form, and Damian glanced over to see if he was still alive.
The other boy was blinking slowly, eyes not quite focusing on Damian as he tried unsuccessfully to sit up. His arms flopped uselessly and he was clearly losing what little consciousness he still possessed.
So, he was obviously going to be of no help whatsoever.
As per usual.
Damian tried to come up with a viable plan. The gun was a hindrance, but wouldn't have been insurmountable if it weren't for the possibility of getting Drake shot in an escape attempt.
Even if he somehow managed to get them both out of the van while it was still in motion, Drake would still likely sustain serious injuries as he would be unable to control his fall.
Either option might result in a dead Drake; no real loss, but Father would be displeased.
Better to hold off until a better opportunity presented itself.
"What the fuck do we do now?" the man panted. "This was not part of the plan."
"What about Rod?" the driver called back. "He didn't get in the van! We fucking left him!"
Another wild turn made the woman curse. She braced herself against the side of the van and glared down at Damian as though it were his fault they were short a kidnapper. Which, of course, it was, but Damian didn't feel the need to point that out. He simply bared his teeth in a menacing grin and enjoyed the unsettled expression that flitted across the woman's face.
"Forget him," the man by the door said bitterly. "We have bigger problems. That was supposed to be quick and quiet. I don't know if you were paying attention, but it was neither. We need to stay under the radar and switch vehicles, and we need to do it soon. The cops'll be all over us."
"And what about him?" the woman said, gesturing to Damian with the gun. Damian sincerely hoped she had the safety on. "We weren't prepared for two, Greg. This changes everything!"
"No names," the man, Greg, ordered. "And this is fine. This is better than fine. It's great."
"How is this fine?" the driver spat.
Greg let out a laugh. "Don't you know who this is? This is Damian Wayne, as in, the youngest son of good ol' Brucie Wayne. We were aiming for one, but we got ourselves two and that means that we just doubled our payday, my friends. Wayne will give us the moon to get these two back alive!"
Damian scowled again at the man's laughter. Ransom. He should have guessed.
Not that Drake was really worth that much, but the kidnappers couldn't have known that. He looked over at the boy in question and sighed to find his eyes closed and his movements stilled. He'd clearly lost his ineffective fight against the drugs.
All Damian had wanted was to have an afternoon with Father, uninterrupted by Drake's incompetence or unceasing neediness. Now, his plans had been utterly ruined and Drake didn't even have the decency to be conscious enough for him to tell him how much of an inconvenience he was.
This was not how Damian had intended to spend his first day of summer vacation.
It wasn't unsalvageable, however. With any luck, Father would be suiting up and launching a rescue immediately. They could get back on track, go for lunch, and leave Drake to drool away the afternoon under Pennyworth's watchful gaze.
Damian calmly eyed the gun still pointed at his head.
It was only a matter of time.