Chapter Text
NOVEMBER 26TH. 3RD YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL.
DAMIAN, 17
The bus was late again.
It always was, on the days where the weather fell to shit and decided that rain would hit everyone square in the face no matter how low they held the umbrella. Damian could swear that shit went vertical, like the wind hated him personally and deliberately aimed the water down the clouds and curved directly into his shirt.
His shoes were already soaked. He didn't need any more annoyances, but here he was, standing in the pouring rain with a half-broken umbrella and the most pissed expression he could possibly muster.
At this point in time the average main character would sigh deeply, annoyed but still composed, but Damian instead squints his eyes from the battering rain and pulls out his phone, muttering a swear along the way. Probably something along the lines of "fuck me," though it's not like he can tell either.
The 5:46 lit up on the screen is immediately covered in droplets of water.
He shakes it off.
More rain follows, as if to mock him.
He shakes it off again - stupidly, it seems, as the rain rolls itself right back onto the screen of the phone.
This time, he actually does sigh about it, loudly with an eye roll, shoving his annoyingly condensated phone into his pocket -
- bzzt. bzzt. bzzt -
- and immediately gets a call.
He picks it up.
"Fuckin' hell, who is it?"
…
"Oh, my bad, I didn't realize -"
…
"Nate, don't piss me off, you can't even - hey. Hey. Hey, no, I'm the one who -"
…
"Fine, come pick me up. The rain's not even that bad, you know- I'm not trying to impress you, dude."
…
"Shut up. Shut the hell up."
…
"Okay, bye, whatever."
…
"Love you too."
He puts the phone - now thoroughly soaked on the screen, as "soaked" as a solid impermeable surface can get, anyways - back into his already damp pocket.
Nate, for the past few months, has been trying his hand at driving himself around. Did this concern Damian? No, not really, other than the fact that he would be a better driver if he was allowed to have a license in the first place. As in, he figured that spiritually he was supposed to be the designated driver of the two. Most of his evidence consisted from the fact that he could get an average of at least top 3 in cart racing games while Nate usually ended up in dead fucking last, giving his controller back to Damian and opting to watch him try to control 2 carts at once.
He still won. Mostly. It counted as a win for him, and that's pretty much all that ever mattered, but it didn't stop him from being a bit miffed about his inability to actually drive with a real-life steering wheel and brakes and gas and exhaust to worry about.
And it wouldn't have been such a big deal, actually, if it was his dad putting another thing on the list of NO-FUN-ALLOWED-FOR-DAMIAN banned activities. It was his fucking narcolepsy.
You know, the condition that screws over the body's ability to regulate sleep completely. The thing that actually gave him an excuse to be sleeping during class, because it wasn't like he could control it if he tried.
But, to be honest, Damian thought the doctors were just making shit up at first.
Stupid medical bullshit, he'd figured. Spontaneously falling asleep wasn't that big of a deal, was it? He did it all the time and he survived. Surely he could also just… you know, not fall asleep. Easy as pie. Cake. Tiramisu. Pancakes. Whatever metaphor fit the occasion, because evidently the doctors weren't serious about something as stupid as that.
Then, he fell asleep in the middle of the road on a walk with Nate and almost got his head run over by a car (not even his to drive, which was a fuckin' bummer,) and he suddenly understood what the big deal was.
Like, damn.
It was kind of funny, actually, how big of a deal Nate made the whole situation. Not that it wasn't bad, because it was kind of… um, really bad, but if he woke up a minute too late then poor Nate would've had the ambulance called on him.
It was partially also Damian's fault for not telling Nate about the whole narcolepsy thing in the first place, actually, but at least -
BEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEP-BEEP.
In front of him, a car window rolled down a little sliver and familiar blue eyes met his own.
"Damian! Hello. Get in, please, before the rain soaks the car seat more than you will - ow, ow, ow."
He flicked the bridge of Nate's nose as he got in the car, snickering. "Come on, leave me at the bus stop if it's that big of a deal."
"Damian, come on, you know what I mean -"
"Okay, okay, I get it."
"…"
"Thanks for picking me up."
Nate sniffed a little, throwing a towel onto Damian's face.
"Don't worry about it."
Damian, trying to hurry before they started blocking up traffic, put his umbrella into a plastic bag - double knotted and shoved into the recesses of his backpack - while Nate accidentally floors the gas, before pulling back with a yelp.
"You suck at this."
"Don't talk to me, then, I'm -"
He goes silent, eyes on the road. As much as he's panicking from the initial jumpstart, the rest of his driving is pretty much fine.
Actually, maybe not that good, but it wasn't quite life-threatening, and that was enough for Damian's standards.
"Bite any more on that poor lip of yours and it's gonna bleed like a bitch. Relax for two seconds, Nate, before you crash us on purpose."
Though, realistically, he doesn't mind the view. Nate doesn't stop, anyways. He never does.
"I hate this car."
"You just hate driving."
"I- yeah, I guess."
The light in front of them turns red, and Nate slows the car down to a stop just fine, though he's shaky about it and there's a rough jerk when he hits the breaks faster than he should.
From the periphery of his vision, Damian can still see Nate chewing on his lower lip.
"Why'd you come pick me up in the first place anyways? Y'know, with all this -"
- he gestures vaguely in Nate's direction, hitting him in the shoulder before patting his hands.
"It can't be good for your heart, and you're only 17."
He snickers. Nate glares at him, though his eyes are too soft to make it look as mean as he wants it to.
"Not even 71, and you already look like you've been through a heart attack and a half."
The light in front of them turns green, and Nate speeds the car up (once again, just fine) before he decides to reply.
"It just makes me nervous? I couldn't explain it if I tried."
Damian tilts his head over to Nate's direction as he keeps talking.
"I- okay. You know how I am when there's a quiz coming up for school, let alone a test, yeah? I stress over a 98 and you tell me to quit worrying, which at least makes sense for grades. But now with this whole driving thing -"
"Oh, perfectionism. Very Nate of you -"
"Shut up. It's not just that. I - well, I dunno. I think it's… mostly paranoia."
He keeps biting on his lip, clouded with an unnatural amount of worry.
"Like, my driving's fine unless I surprise myself. That's the good part. But, er…"
Damian pokes him hard in the side of his face, and he finally lets go of his lower lip.
"But - ow, quit it - you don't know when something can go wrong, and most crashes aren't even your fault. It's just someone else who's not careful or got too drunk or something along those lines."
He flicks the turn signal, and Damian realizes they're already at the entrance of Nate's neighborhood.
"There's too many factors I can't control, you know - what the hell, I've told you this before, haven't I?"
The car measles its way up onto the driveway, and Nate lets out a breath when he turns off the ignition.
"Yeah, you have," Damian replies. "You're forgetful as hell, man, I dunno how you still have all A's in your classes with memory like that."
"Shut up."
He snickers again, though Nate cuts him off before he can add another comment.
"Man, I - hurry up and run into the house before the rain gets any worse."
Damian pauses at that.
Usually, as in the only 3 times he's carpooled with Nate, he'd make a pit stop at his house to drop some stuff off and grab whatever he needed for their next destination. 2 out of those 3 times, the next destination was Damian's apartment, and 1 out of 3 times they were heading out to the markets.
"You're not just dropping your stuff off?"
"No, I told my mom I was gonna get you and she said she'd make extra food for the occasion. And you know how she is, insistent and all. Said something along the lines of how you'd get sick with rain this bad, yada yada…"
Damian grins, staring at how Nate was leaning his arms over the wheel and talking to him with tired eyes.
"… and then, she -"
"Okay. Race you to the front door."
"…hey. Hey! Hey, no fair!"
The doors of the car slam shut behind them, and Damian's pretty sure Nate forgot to lock the doors. But, hey, in a suburban domesticated neighborhood, does safety bullshit really matter?
He figures it doesn't.