Rites of Passage | Damian x OC

17. The Present/A Friend

cw: drugs

~~~~~~~~~

Time had seemed to lose its meaning after the funeral for Titus. Minutes had begun blurring into hours, hours into days. Damian had managed to cut down his shifts at the library—he'd terminated his volunteering at the animal shelter, a decision he considered to make more sense than much else occurring in his life. Everything seemed to be at a standstill, where he went about everyday activities with automation and his mind anywhere except the present. He could hardly remember the times at which he ate, how he ended up from his room to the shower, why he awoke at seemingly random moments during the night. Any sense of normality and routine had disappeared, all of it replaced by cyclical bouts of painful reminders and numbness.

Only a few things were keeping him grounded and sane, including his family treating him as normally as they could... because they knew he nearly despised being handled like he was fragile or damaged. Dick, of course, was regardless acting much kinder than usual and checking in with him more often, but Damian couldn't find it in himself to be pessimistic about it, not when he was already weighed down with negativity. Even when he could feel the sympathetic gazes his older brother or Alfred were giving his back when they thought he wasn't looking, the young man had no inclination to complain.

Jess had caught on to his coping method as well. Whenever he'd suggested an activity that was "normal," she didn't protest or attempt to question him. (She'd continued making time for them among a busier schedule with her tutor—the teen had decided she would take up the opportunity to catch up on her education—and new job, a gesture he had never explicitly asked for but appreciated nonetheless.) He still rolled his eyes at her, she still poked fun at him and cracked witty jokes, and they continued on as if nothing tragic had happened.

Except Damian knew they both were thinking about it despite how hard he tried to conceal his pain with scowls and practiced, controlled expressions. He could feel how her hazel eyes lingered on him for a moment longer when he broke eye contact, perhaps wondering if he was going to break down at any moment. Her smiles and grins were genuine but careful, like she was unsure if such a positive gesture was inappropriate.

But nothing about the way she did these things made him feel weak or emotionally insecure. No, Damian felt more as if she merely... saw him, yet without judgment or pity.

It was odd, particularly because he could only count on one hand the number of people who'd managed to treat him in this way.

"Is it too late to change my mind?"

The two of them were standing at the door that led into the manor's expansive, well-lit garage, finally having time to do the lessons Damian had offered to give her. He glanced over at her with a brow that was slightly raised, catching the wide-eyed expression on her face as she took in the row of vehicles that, collectively, held a seven-digit dollar value.

"And why would you do that?" he inquired.

"I was just joking," Jess dismissed with a light scoff. "... Kinda."

Sweeping his gaze over the shiny bodies before landing it back on her, Damian said, "Well? Which one?"

Her eyes seemed to bug out when she realized what he was asking, making the corner of his mouth lift in amusement. She was speechless for a moment as her gaze bounced from vehicle to vehicle, and Damian assumed she was trying to determine their worth.

"Uh... which one is the least expensive?"

Nearly an hour, a few slammed brakes, many scoldings, and several "I did exactly as you said"s later, they were in a nearly-empty parking lot in one of Gotham's business districts, sitting in the black Audi. Jess was still in the driver's seat, having driven around in the side streets nearby per Damian's instruction and come back to the lot after they'd both decided to call it a day. In spite of his initial hesitation, her driving skill was not awful, but it was clear she hadn't been behind a wheel in a few years.