Chapter Text
Mrs. Briggs took a sip of her coffee before going back to her grading. It was a mindless task, punching in numbers for essays and reading logs on her computer. She had gotten behind on the process, letting other tasks get in the way. That was why she had decided to start the class with quiet reading time.
The silence that had finally taken over the classroom was rare; no one was chattering; instead, all eyes were on their books. This was notable, especially as it was the period before lunch.
She frowned as she picked up Damian Wayne’s paper. It was entirely blank, as all his recent work had been. The last time she had seen him pick up a pencil was when he’d drawn a few images for a poster. He’d never been perfect at turning things in on time, but they always ended up on her desk at some point in the following few days. Something had changed.
He had become quieter and had turned into himself, it seemed. Not that he’d been especially chatty before, but it was to a point where she couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard him talk. She knew he was seeing Dr. Dahlman, but there was only so much help he could give. Especially when their calls home never seemed to go through. He hadn’t come to class yet, though realistically, he might’ve been called in for another meeting with the counselor. It was still worth noting, nonetheless.
Mrs. Briggs glanced upwards.
His chair was empty, giving her a clear view of Kody. He was chewing on his pencil, his eyes darting to the desk in front of him. He seemed upset. Almost conflicted, and she narrowed her eyes in concern.
It wasn’t obvious what the issue could be. She was well aware of his ongoing feud with Annabelle, but hadn’t heard anything about it recently. She had the girl in a later period, so she could bring it up then.
Something told her that wasn’t the problem this time. Especially with how his gaze was fixed on Damian's chair.
She sighed, knowing her grading would have to be put off for another day at the very least. She stood up, walking over to Kody, who looked up at her with a guilty expression.
“Hey, could we speak outside? You’re not in trouble, I just want to talk to you.”
He hardly looked convinced, and it was then she solidified that something was wrong when he failed to argue back. He merely stood up and trudged to the door, his friends watching him with confused faces.
“Friends, I expect everyone to behave while I’m in the hall. If we’re good, we can play a Kahoot. I have prizes,” she announced, and there was a murmur of excitement that rippled through the classroom before a few heads nodded, and she finally stepped out. She left the door open enough so that she could easily glance in if need be.
Kody was staring at the floor. She looked him up and down, not noting any injuries. He seemed shaken up by something.
“I noticed you seemed a little down in class. I wanted to ask if everything was okay.” Mrs. Briggs kept her voice as soft as she could and had to keep her surprise from showing as Kody's eyes began to wet.
“Well—it’s just…” He fidgeted with his shirt. “I was wondering, what if… if someone looks hurt, and they don’t want you to say anything. But—you don’t know if…if you should tell someone still.”
She racked her brain for an explanation. “Did one of your friends get hurt in P.E. today?”
“I don’t… I don’t think so. I think—I think before, they did. Get hurt.”
“…Sometimes our friends can be a little embarrassed about being hurt. But you should always tell an adult. Even if it’s not serious, it’s really important we check to make sure they’re okay.”
He nodded slowly, “then… I should tell? Even if they seemed kind of scared?”
She grimaced. “Especially then. No one should be scared.”
“…Okay. Okay.” Koby glanced up at her. His hands were still pulling on the bottom of his shirt, and she’d suggest he stop in case he damaged his top if he didn’t seem so upset. “Uhm. Can I—can I tell you?”
“Of course. This is the right thing to do. You’re a good friend.”
He smiled briefly, unsure and likely for her benefit. “Well… I was putting the equipment away for basketball with Damian, and when he pulled his pinnie off, it kinda… pulled his jacket up too. And there were a lot of bruises, so I… told him that maybe he should go for the nurse or something.
“But he got really upset, and he ran away, and I don’t know where, but I don’t think—” He paused to catch his breath with a nauseous expression. “It looked like maybe someone else did it. And I don’t think… It's not good. I don’t think it is.”
She felt her heart sputter as tears streamed down Kody’s face. It was a revelation no 11-year-old should have to face. A shattering of innocence of sorts.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
At that moment, she did not care about whatever rules the school had about initiating hugs because he clearly needed one. She held her arms up, and he took this offering easily. She let him cry silently into her, a wave of horror slowly passing over as she let his words sink in.
Because it made a lot of sense. And maybe that was the worst part.
She knew Damian was acting differently. That the kind of change he’d gone through in only a few weeks was unprecedented. The school had begun filing evidence to build a case if things escalated, but she never did consider this. It made a frightening amount of sense.
Mrs. Briggs was a newer teacher. She was 25, only in her third year of teaching at a school like Gotham Academy. She’d been extremely lucky to be granted such a position; a private school of this caliber paid much better than public.
Never did she think she’d have to deal firsthand with such a situation. She’d been well-trained as a mandated reporter, but putting that skill set to use was a different story. It was one of those things you never actually thought you’d use. Especially at a school with staff she so greatly looked up to. She’d thought the kids would want to go to someone else who seemed more experienced.
But Kody’s tears had made it real. And she knew what had to be done.
She just couldn’t imagine who might’ve inflicted such damage on a young boy. On her student, on Damian.
She strongly hoped it wasn’t who she suspected it might be.
“I don’t think that’s the case,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow at the quivering man in front of him.
“Well—you see… I wouldn’t do that! It’s true! Don’t believe Shear, she doesn’t know what she's talking about,” he sputtered, gripping Bruce’s desk like his life depended on it. “I’ve been with you for how many years? Why now—”
“Then explain this.”
Bruce slid a few papers over. The man paled as he read them over, surely realizing that he wasn’t getting away with this. “It’s your account. I find it difficult to believe you did not know someone was siphoning money from the donation fund.”
He mumbled something again, and Bruce glared at him. Samuel Letterman had been with the company for almost twenty years. But it seemed even with the very generous salary, he was still dissatisfied. Samuel could only stare at the papers, eyes darting around like he could find a mistake, an error that he could spin in his favor.
Bruce’s phone rang. The noise was loud and echoing in his office, causing Samuel to jump. It was an unknown caller, but there was something about it that urged him to answer. A gut feeling that had saved him on endless occasions.
“Hello?”
“Hi.” It was a woman’s voice, clinical in inflection. Professionally trained. “Am I speaking to Bruce Wayne?”
“You are. Who is this?” He frowned, leaning back in his chair, holding a pencil. He motioned for Samuel to leave, who looked startled by the gesture. “Out.”
Samuel scrambled up, snatching up his bag and leaving hurriedly through the door. He slammed it, like he was containing some sort of animal in the room. The lights flickered with the noise, and Bruce glanced at them briefly.
“My name is Leah Paulson. I’m with Gotham Child Protective Services. I’m calling about your son, Damian Wayne. He’s currently in our protective custody.”
The pencil snapped in his hand.
“What? Why?” He growled, his usual persona falling. “Damian isn’t in any danger— what are you talking about?”
“I understand this is very upsetting. We received a report concerning injuries and potential safety risks. We conducted an assessment, and due to those concerns, we have placed him in a temporary, safe placement while the investigation continues.”
“Temporary? So this isn’t permanent?” He felt something in his gut churn. Of all the conversations he thought he’d be having, this one surely hadn’t crossed his mind. “Is he safe? I don’t—”
She cut him off, “Damian is safe, yes. At this time, we are seeking a relative or other placement that is a good match. We would like to place him with someone close to him, if that’s possible.”
“… and you’ll tell me where he is, correct? You said injuries—I need to see him.”
She spoke carefully. “Under current policy, I can tell you the general location and the agency that is caring for him. I also need to explain your legal rights. Because a court hearing will be scheduled soon, you have the right to legal representation, and you will be notified of the date, time, and place of that hearing.”
“A hearing? When?” He felt hollow as he listened to her answers, each cementing the fact that something was completely and utterly wrong.
“We are working to file a dependency petition. Depending on court availability, the initial hearing often happens within 24 to 72 hours of removal. I will send you a written notice of the hearing details, your rights, and who your case worker is. My direct line is 203-7247, and my supervisor is Jeffery Lankowski if you need to call back.”
“Alright.” He paused, swallowing thickly. “And… how long do you expect this placement to last?”
Leah hummed. “That depends. Our first goal is temporary care while we complete our investigation. If the court requires that he stay with a temporary guardian beyond the next hearing, then we’ll follow court orders. But I can assure you, it’s not our goal to sever your relationship—we want to resolve this in the safest way possible.”
“I'm going to fight this. I wouldn’t hurt my son, and I would never let anyone even try.”
“You have every right to.” Her voice sounded minutely less cold, which he felt was in his favor. “I will send you paperwork, including how to request court dates, visitation, and how to have your attorney appear. Do you have someone you trust who can take him in for now?”
He slumped in his chair, in a state of disbelief that this was happening. That something like this could even happen. He should’ve paid more attention to Damian, focused more on his change in demeanor. But he’d let it stand to the side with everything else happening, because at least he’d known Damian was safe and could open up when he wanted to. He had tried to indicate to Damian that he could talk to him; the change had only been for two weeks.
And yet none of that had been the truth, had it? The word injuries flashed in his mind like a film reel.
“… I have one person in mind.”
Dick was skimming through case files in the cave when he got the call.
It rang once on the table when he searched for it, buried underneath a few folders. He didn’t recognize the number, but he decided to pick up the phone anyway. He was getting sick of sorting, so any form of a break was welcome.
“Hi?” He greeted, stretching in his chair.
“Hello. Am I speaking to Richard Grayson?”
He frowned, wondering if his number had been leaked again. “That’s me. Who is this?”
“My name is Leah Paulson. I’m a social worker here in Gotham. I’m calling to ask if you would be able to take temporary custody of your brother, Damian Wayne.”
“Uhm—” Dick had to blink a few times. He considered briefly whether he was mishearing things. “What? Sorry, did you say—did you say that you want me to take… temporary custody of Damian?”
“Yes. If you aren’t able to, then next—”
“Wait—hold on. Yes, yes, I’ll take him, of course, I just—I’m confused about what happened.” His heart was hammering, worry seeping into his tone. “Why is he in temporary custody? You can’t just— His father’s Bruce Wayne. Did something happen to him?”
He feared the worst, hypotheticals flying past him of hospitals or even jail. Misunderstandings that would be nearly impossible to resolve.
“Mr. Wayne has already been contacted. Right now, we’re mainly concerned with making sure Damian is with a verified adult family member. You’ve previously had custody over him, so you are the first choice.”
“I—” He let out a breath, shaking his head, disbelieving. “Why is he not with Bruce?”
“I understand this is a lot to process, Mr. Grayson. Unfortunately, I can’t disclose specifics over the phone. I can tell you Damian is physically safe right now, but we need placement tonight.” Her voice became harder. “Can you confirm you’re able to pick him up today? I’m aware your primary residence is listed in Blüdhaven.”
Fear was quickly becoming the sole emotion he possessed. “I’ll come, I’m in Gotham right now. But—where exactly is he? Damian—Is he okay?”
“As I said before, he is safe.” He felt a flicker of anger at her wording. Safe wasn’t the same as okay, and she seemed to know that. “You’ll need to come down to the Gotham Child Advocacy Center to sign release paperwork. I’ll text you the address. Please bring identification.”
He forced his voice to remain steady, though his anxiety was only rising.
“Alright, okay, I’ll drive over right now. He’s with you?”
“Yes. Thank you, I’ll see you soon then.”
She hung up before he could ask more questions. He cursed, running a hand through his hair as he hastily stood up. Bruce’s contact was easy to find, and he tapped on it as he began jogging upstairs.
The phone rang, each time going unanswered. He groaned as he was sent to voicemail.
“C’mon, Bruce. Pick up your damn phone.” Dick hissed, hoping Bruce would listen to that later as he shoved his phone into his pocket and rushed to find his car keys.
A thousand thoughts were running through his head. It wasn’t clear why the state would suddenly decide to take Damian from Bruce. Phone calls home of concern about Dick had usually been answered with a charismatic explanation of how “boys will be boys” and a wild story of him falling off a dirt bike.
So this had to have been sudden. Something that set the school's alarm bells off. Because Bruce would’ve at the very least answered the phone when it came to Damian, for any of them, for that matter.
He fumbled for his bag, snatching it up instead of wasting time looking for his car keys.
It was a terrifying feeling to know something was wrong, but not having any way to help. Worse still, Dick was well aware that Damian had been off as of late. He’d been notably to the point when texting (much more than usual), and while he was planning to visit anyway, a call from Tim had solidified the need.
He hadn’t been able to focus solely on Damian as soon as he would have liked. Dick had needed to quickly finish up a few cases as fast as he could, and the work he’d been doing all day had been the final step. He’d been planning to pick Damian up that day anyway, drive him to his favorite cafe, and end with a conversation on why he had been acting differently as of late. He had been trying to do it slowly and carefully, so he wouldn’t scare him—easier than outright confrontation.
But maybe that had been a fatal mistake. Perhaps something was much worse than what he’d been assuming. A brief spell of missing his mother was normally the culprit; that didn’t seem the case this time. And that thought clawed at him, taunting him. Another selfish choice that had hurt someone he loved.
He considered briefly whether he should grab a few sets of Damian’s clothing. There was likely a shirt or two in Dick’s apartment that he’d left behind. He’d make someone bring over whatever Damian needed; it didn’t make any sense for him to waste his time.
If they had already taken Damian from Bruce’s custody, then that meant they had enough evidence for a full-on case. Likely, the worst was being assumed.
It was in this hurry that he nearly knocked over Tim, who had turned the corner at the same time as him.
There were a lot of unexpected sights that Tim had seen in the manor over the years. Some villains, a turkey named Jerry, and a kid-who-tried-to-kill-him-but-they’ve-moved-on-sort-of were just a few things he’d dealt with at home.
So Dick, looking so frazzled, really shouldn’t have been so surprising. He still managed to only narrowly avoid falling over as his brother ran into him.
“Where’s the fire?” Tim asked, only half-joking. There weren’t too many things that could get Dick so stressed, and as of late, he had narrowed the main possibilities to two suspects easily.
Dick sighed, his hand pulling at his hair as he frowned. His bag was half on his shoulder, evidence of the clear rush he was in.
“Tim—they took him.” Tim raised an eyebrow, watching a flurry of emotions dance across his brother’s face. “Social services, they have Damian. Bruce, where is he? He’s got to know something about this—”
“You mean CPS? What? Why?” He felt his heart rate tick up. “Is Bruce…”
“He’s alive, I know, I know. The woman—Leah? She said that he had already been contacted about this.” Dick let out a breath, shaking his head. “I can’t reach him, though. I guess he’s busy. Alfred’s out, I need you to contact him. And probably everyone else, too.”
A dawning sense of horror began to creep up his spine. “You don’t think…”
“I think that they… they think he’s being hurt by someone. It’s the only real reason that would explain why they’d pull him from Bruce’s custody so easily.”
Tim grimaced. It wasn’t the first time something of the nature had been suspected of any of them. If anything, he’d be concerned if no one had ever been suspicious of the copious amounts of injuries he and his siblings had garnered as Robin. But it had never escalated to a point where CPS was called.
“…Abused? I mean, I know he’s been acting off, but don’t you think that’s kind of a leap? He’s probably been concerningly silent, sure, but that doesn’t mean…”
His voice trailed off as he noted the way Dick’s jaw clenched.
“I know. She wouldn’t give me any real details, so I have no clue what might’ve even happened.”
“We both got kidnapped… I know his arm is probably still banged up from that. Maybe someone saw that, and coupled with his change in behavior—”
“It’s not a good look,” Dick finished for him.
The handprint would surely do it, but he frowned still. Usually, that would be chalked up by Bruce to a fighting class of some sort. Or if it was really that bad, he’d be kept home until the worst of it healed. Damian with bruises wasn’t anything to bat an eye at, truthfully. He liked to brag about them, as if they spoke of his character in some way, puffing up his chest as he pointed out each one and detailed whatever fight he’d been in. It would almost be cute if it were any kid but Damian (and admittedly sometimes it still was, especially when he’d get indignant when Tim would ask if he was dramatizing).
“But,” he paused to rack his brain and confirm his thoughts, “if that were the case, the police have a report. They would’ve cleared up any misunderstandings about the arm thing, at least. And he hasn’t been injured that much on patrol in a while. I mean, we would have noticed. Anything bad would have faded by now.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t…” Dick tightened his hands by his side. “Have we been missing something? Is…”
“Shit,” was all Tim could say as he stared off.
Because Damian had been quiet recently, sure. But Tim had, at least in the beginning, taken that to be due to misplaced fury that would fade at some point. He’d alerted everyone individually after the gala that Damian seemed down. It hadn’t seemed too pressing yet, maybe just a bad week. But the art show fiasco had made it clear it might be deeper than that.
He had a lot on his plate, with the whole weirdness of the kidnapping and now creepy cult-like occurrences all over Gotham. But Damian was his little brother, and he knew that he could’ve tried harder. Maybe it wouldn’t have escalated to this point then.
“Yeah.” Dick stuffed his hands in his pockets, an exhausted expression on his face. “They’re probably questioning him about something. It seems like the social workers are trying to pin it on Bruce.”
“What? He wouldn’t—” Tim frowned. “I mean, that doesn’t even make sense. I don’t… we would’ve known that. The kid has been acting weird, but not just around Bruce, to where…”
Bruce was a lot of things. But behind his mask, Tim knew he cared above all else. It was why he bothered going out each night, facing endless misery stoically and resolutely. So there was no doubt in Tim’s mind that it just couldn’t be the case; Batman didn’t hurt Robin, he protected him.
But Batman and Bruce weren’t the same for most people.
“I know. We know. But it doesn’t look good.” Dick’s voice shook slightly as he continued. “Damian is a really… insecure kid. I know he’s a little egoist sometimes, but it’s kind of just a cover, you know?”
It was a true statement. Obvious from the barbarous nature of every word the boy spoke, every carefully crafted dig and well-placed punch. He was always just trying to prove himself, but was surely going about it the completely wrong way. Which made it all make sense in a sickening manner. Because if Damian was being hurt, would he be willing to say anything? To admit something he surely perceived as his own weakness?
Tim shook his head in a state of utter disbelief. He frowned, chewing at his lip as he slowly considered the last two weeks. It didn’t make any sense, and yet the more he thought about it, from the way Damian had flinched at the gala when he’d tried to pat his back or his overall solemn attitude, there was some merit to the idea. Just not Bruce of all people.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m… worried. I know I haven’t been around much lately, but you have.” Dick looked up, his gaze hardened. “Anything I should know? Like behavior changes or weird interactions?”
“Well…” Tim struggled to put everything into words, taking his time as he spoke. “He’s been quiet since… God, I don’t even know. I thought he was just mad at me for some reason, so I tried to avoid him to let him cool off. But he didn’t… change. And I got pissed when he didn’t tell me about his open house, so no one went, and that definitely set off some alarm bells with the school.”
He tugged at his collar, the room suddenly too warm as he felt sweat beads congregate on his neck, as he asked in a near whisper, “Do you think… is it true? That someone really…”
He trailed off as Dick clenched his fists, his jaw setting as he glared at the floor.
“I’m scared to figure it out, to be honest.”
Tim sucked in a breath, his stomach churning. Because if Dick was without his usual facade, that brightness he brought to every conversation, that meant it truly was something bad. The man looked younger than he had in years, lost and unsure. Tim stepped forward tentatively, his mind screaming at him to somehow fix it all. He lifted his arm, carefully throwing it over his brother's shoulders, burdened for too long by the weight of the world.
“We’ll find out together. Promise.”
Dick’s hands were tight on the wheel, like they might slip off if he weren’t careful. He’s pretty sure he blew through a couple of stop signs, but that wasn’t at the front of his mind.
It was a forty-minute drive to the center. Gotham traffic was notorious, and he was becoming increasingly on edge with each concurrent merge. It was worse because it was rush hour, and everyone seemed to have somewhere to be.
He almost wished he’d taken the Batplane as the light before him remained a blinding red. His fingers tapped impatiently as he stared ahead, barely focusing on the road. There was a storm-worth of thoughts rushing through his mind. He glanced at the interface of his car, where a call was flashing with Bruce’s name under it.
Dick clicked accept immediately. The line crackled for a second before Bruce’s voice came in over the car’s speakers.
“Dick—I guess you’re already headed over? Or do you need—” He was agitated, his voice straining slightly. Dick swerved around a slow-moving truck when the light finally changed. A chorus of car horns blared behind him, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I’m close. Ten minutes. Maybe eight.” There was a pause over the line, and Dick clenched his jaw.
“I spoke with Paulson, the social worker. She said that Damian is… physically safe.”
“Did she say anything else? Because she didn’t tell me shit. Just that he’s alive and that—” He swallowed. “And that he needs someplace to stay.”
Bruce’s voice was brittle and raw, his inhale audible over the line. “She wouldn’t give me any details. Not over the phone, at least. Only that they removed him on a… mandatory hold.” His voice dipped lower. “She implied the report was—signficiant. Injuries, she mentioned.”
The word landed harshly, a punch to his gut as Dick cursed quietly. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, matched with the blanching of his face. He probably looked pretty ghostly to any onlookers.
“He wouldn’t have told them anything like that. Not unless—” He cut himself off. Because in what situation would Damian of all people ever give enough information out that could land him a CPS call? He was tight-lipped to a fault, dodging injury reports like his life depended on it. “I don’t even know. Did she say if I could see him right away?”
“I spoke with my lawyers. You’re listed as an approved kinship placement. They’ll release him to you as soon as you arrive. I already talked with Aflred, he’ll come by to help with—” Dick felt the air leave his lungs. “Just… don’t let him think he’s in trouble. I don’t know what happened, but… he needs to know that.”
“I won’t.” And he knew he wouldn’t. There were a lot of scenarios that had gone through his head, but any of this being Damian’s fault hadn’t ever crossed his mind. It just wasn’t true, even his subconscious was well aware. “This is… big. I don’t even know how to…”
Bruce cut him off as his voice trailed. “I’m going to take care of it. Call me about anything. I have to go talk more with the lawyers. You’re the only one he’ll listen to. Try to… just get to him. That’s the priority.”
He nodded, even though Bruce couldn’t see him. “I’m on my way.”
The call disconnected. His foot pressed down harder on the accelerator.
A bird perched on an awning stared menacingly down at Dick as he walked into the center with a thousand questions ready to lob at Damian. A million more words of affirmation to hand him.
But all those thoughts had dissipated just as quickly as they had come when he finally saw his littlest brother. His eyes widened as he took in Damian’s state.
He was standing hunched in on himself, a lollipop unwrapped in his hand. His eyes flicked up to Dick on his approach, an acknowledgment that felt muddled. It felt like he was seeing Damian for the first time. When had his clothes hung like that on his frame—too big, almost swallowing him? When had his undereyes gained that particular shadow? When had his stare become so listless, a feeling of quiet contempt underlying it all?
Attempts at communication felt fruitless. Damian would only barely respond, nodding or shaking his head sometimes. It was uncanny to interact with him. He hadn’t been like this that weekend; on patrol, he’d been at least somewhat animated, glaring at Dick a few times.
Something was off. His breathing was even quieter, more shallow than usual. And Leah still hadn’t told him the details; he guessed he’d be getting those from Bruce later that day. She’d made him sign a release form before sending them off.
He could feel her eyes on the back of his neck. It was like an assessment, a test to see if he truly cared at all for him. Dick was struggling to keep his temper in check; he wanted nothing more than to take his fear and anger out on something. But his fury dissipated when he looked again at Damian.
He wasn’t himself; that was obvious. He’d let Dick guide him out of the center, which was uncanny in itself. Maybe he’d just disassociated so badly that he was stuck in his own mind.
The vigilante part of his mind was reeling. What could’ve happened? He looked almost ill. It was like he’d been left out in the cold, a pallor to his normally tan skin. Old incidents passed through his mind, flashes of Bruce’s comment on injuries appearing. Tim’s theories joined them, each rising into one more sinister than before. There weren’t many things that could get such a reaction like this out of Damian. An unnatural stillness.
He ushered him into the car, hands hovering with a surgical sort of caution.
Dick glanced at him in his seat, his eyes trained outside the window. Damian was always small for his age, and that fact only made it all hurt more. His arms were curled around his abdomen, his legs lifted onto the seat. It didn’t seem like he’d noticed the pose he’d taken up. He hadn’t even commented on Dick’s tension, no devastating quip about his posture or ruffled clothing. He hadn’t heard one for a while now, if he thought about it.
Dick wasn’t qualified for this. But he’d sooner carve his own heart out than turn his attention away, and he had a duty not only as Nightwing but as Damian’s brother. He was going to get some answers at home.
He would figure out who or what had changed Damian like this. There was no length he wouldn’t go for his family.