Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Duke didn’t have any exams or assignments coming up, so he’d gotten pretty bored at the manor lately. Maybe that’s why he volunteered to take Damian to the soccer game. He wouldn’t admit it out loud but he was actually kind of curious to see the kid play. Lately, they had developed a quiet sort of alliance—mutual respect, if you will.

Since he’d started driving Damian to school, their interactions had increased. They weren’t exactly best pals, but he did consider the fourteen-year-old his little brother. Whether Damian felt the same way, he didn’t really care.

The match itself was surprisingly fun. Sure, it was amateur football, but you could tell the kids poured their hearts into it. Damian played as a forward—and a good one at that. In the stands to his right, there was a group of parents cheering for the opposing team that had brought rattles, noisemakers, and a big drum, which Duke found a little much for an eleven-a-side cadet match.

The noise was starting to overwhelm Duke, so he decided to head to the bar for a soda before making his way back. Somehow, the parents had only gotten louder—Damian’s school team had scored, and they were trying to keep morale high. Duke opted to walk around the field, eventually settling near the side Damian was playing on. He leaned against the fence, watching quietly.

The whistle signaled halftime, and the players began walking to the benches. The score was 2-0 in favor of Gotham Academy. As Damian went to grab his water, one of his teammates—a tall, blonde kid—delivered a shoulder check that nearly sent him to the ground. Damn. That had to be a strong shove if it made Damian stumble.

Damian didn’t react, though; he just grabbed his water and, upon spotting Duke, walked towards him.

“What’s his problem?” Duke asked once Damian was in front of him.

Damian looked momentarily confused before realizing what he was talking about. “Him? Oh, he’s just an asshole. Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged.

Duke hummed in acknowledgment. “So, want to grab some takeout after this? I’m not in the mood to cook, and I know Cass isn’t either.”

“Sure, Chinese?”

“Deal.” Duke smiled as Damian turned and jogged back to the bench.

Leaning against the fence, Duke couldn’t help but notice how Damian kept slightly to the side from the rest of the team. He knew the kid wasn’t too fond of other people, but it worried him a little that he didn’t have friends. It was kind of sad.

He hung out sometimes with some of the kids he met on Lazarus Island, and there was also the rare Jon hang-out, but most of the time, he didn’t have anyone to talk to.

The match resumed, and Damian took to the field. About ten minutes in, he got hit by a kid from his team trying to get the ball. Said kid immediately stood up and started yelling at Damian, who was still on the ground—and who, strangely, just took it. He didn’t respond at all. Instead, he silently got up, dusted himself off, and returned to his position without a word.

Weird.

Before the match restarted, the coach called for a substitution, and Damian was benched. He sat down with a frown and—were those tears? He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were glossy. Duke was now very concerned. For Damian to get to the “almost crying” point, it had to be serious.

It couldn’t be an injury—he’d seen the kid get stitches without anesthesia and not react at all. This had to be something else entirely.

Duke approached the bench and tried to get Damian’s attention from behind the fence, but it was no use. His gaze was fixed on the ball, intently following the game.

“Damian!” He tried, but either he couldn’t hear him or was ignoring him—most likely the latter.

After the game, Damian went straight for the car. Duke followed, unlocking the doors before getting into the driver’s seat.

“So…” Duke began, choosing his words carefully. He knew better than to be too direct; otherwise, the kid would run away. Damian was a bit like a stray cat that way. “That benching was unfair, huh?”

“Yes,” He grumbled. "Cooper and his group have the coach wrapped around their finger. He always sides with them in every argument, so I have to suck it up."

“That sucks,” Duke said, not daring to push his luck. Getting an actual answer longer than two or three words was a win in his book.

They drove in silence to the Chinese place they frequented. Damian got out of the car and went inside to order; he spoke Mandarin, and the owners liked him, so they always gave him extra food, so Duke was happy to stay back.

When they arrived at the manor, they changed and headed to the cave, where Cass was practicing some moves. They showed her the takeout, and she went to wash her hands. They sat near the center—Damian on a desk and Duke in the one in front, facing each other. Cass sat criss-cross applesauce on Damian’s desk.

None of the trio was particularly fond of small talk, so they ate in silence, save for the occasional comment about cases they were working on. Duke didn’t bring up his concerns to Damian, but he made a mental note to pay closer attention to his behavior at school and elsewhere.

Tim arrived at the manor three days later from university. With two weeks off and a case he’d been struggling to crack, he decided to move back temporarily to focus on it. He was especially willing to return because he knew Bruce wouldn’t be around for the month due to a JLA mission off-world.

Tim thought the manor these days was quiet. Too quiet.

Cass spent most of her time either out of the house or in the cave, Duke was mostly patrolling during the day or taking online classes in his room, and Damian was either at school, in his room, or down in the cave. So everything felt empty. Tim didn’t like it. At least when Alfred was alive, you could hear him cleaning or busying himself with chores. Now, the silence felt eerie.

On the second day of his stay, he finally found someone outside the cave. Duke was in the kitchen making himself some lunch, a pesto sandwich. 

“Hey, could you make me one?” Tim asked, hopping up to sit on the counter.

Duke turned and smiled. “Yeah, sure.”

“This place is so empty. Does it not bother you?” Tim asked, unable to understand how they could live like this all the time.

“Well, we usually talk in the cave,” Duke said with a shrug. “The manor feels more like where we eat and sleep. Hang-out time is downstairs, you know?”

“I guess.” Tim frowned. “But do you guys never sit down to eat a meal together? Not even with Bruce?”

“Meals together haven’t really been a thing since everyone moved back after Alfred’s death and all the other stuff,” Duke said thoughtfully. “But sometimes we get takeout and eat together. Mostly in the cave, though.”

“Oh,” Tim said simply.

Duke turned back to the sandwiches. He layered sliced tomato, thick pieces of burrata, and a few leaves of fresh basil. Then he added a little mayo, a generous spoonful of pesto, and pressed it all together before handing one to Tim.

Tim wasted no time digging in. After a few bites, he hopped off the counter and grabbed an energy drink from the fridge—one he’d been the one to stock.

“Didn’t you already have one of those this morning?” Duke asked, an amused smile on his face.

“Yeah. How’d you know that?” Tim asked, sitting at the kitchen table where Duke had settled.

“I saw you walking from the cave when I was getting ready for patrol. Have you even slept at all?

“Nah, I’ll sleep later,” Tim said simply, taking another bite of the sandwich.

“Sure.”

Tim chewed silently. “Hey, so. I don’t have anything going on right now. Do you want to go to the movies? There’s this western I think you’d like,” Tim offered. He’d initially thought of watching it with Bernard, but it had been a while since he’d spent time with Duke, and he wanted to catch up.

“Oh, no can do. Sorry. I have to take Damian to football practice and then bring him back. I was actually planning on staying there and reading a book or something.”

Tim’s eyebrows shot up. “Football practice?”

“Yeah. He got on the team at the beginning of the year,” Duke explained. “He’s really good.”

“I bet…” Tim said, nodding slowly.

“You should come too. There’s a bar at the field—we could grab some fries or something,” Duke offered.

Tim thought about it for a moment. Football wasn’t his thing, but he’d asked to hang out so he could spend time with Duke. After a moment of consideration, he agreed. “Sure, why not?”

After finishing their sandwiches, Tim and Duke cleaned up and headed out to the car. They found Damian already waiting in the passenger seat, earbuds in and sunglasses on, scrolling on his phone. Without a word, he opened the door, climbed into the backseat, and leaned his head against the window.

The drive to the field was quiet, aside from the soft hum of music from the car speakers. Duke tapped the steering wheel in time with the beat of the song while Tim scrolled through his phone, occasionally glancing at Damian. It was weird to see him look like a regular teenager, especially since he had only ever interacted with him on the field since he’d moved out of the manor. 

When they pulled into the parking lot, Damian was the first out, grabbing his bag from the trunk and striding toward the field without a backward glance. Duke and Tim exchanged a look, and Duke shrugged.

The field was lively with the shouts of players and the sharp whistle of the coach. Tim followed Duke to the bar near the bleachers, where they ordered fries and sodas. With their snacks in hand, they found a table under the shade of a nearby tree, offering a clear view of the field.

As they sat, Tim sipped his soda and watched the teens warm up. “So, which one’s Damian?”

Duke pointed to the far side of the field. “Number 19. Forward position.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the practice unfold. Tim noted how Damian moved with precision and control, his intensity unmatched by the others on the field. But he also noticed how Damian seemed to keep his distance from his teammates, even when they celebrated a particularly good play.

“Does he ever, like… talk to these kids?” Tim asked, gesturing toward the team.

Duke sighed. “Not really. I’m pretty sure the other kids don’t like him, and he’s not the type to try to get along anyway. Still…” He trailed off, frowning. “ I wish they didn’t ignore him all the time. He spends most of his time alone—even here.”

Tim frowned, swirling his straw in his soda. “Well, I wouldn’t worry. Damian knows how to handle himself.”

“Yeah,” Duke agreed. “But still… It’s not great seeing him on the sidelines all the time, it’s sad. ”

As if on cue, Damian got knocked over during a scrimmage. He quickly got back up, brushing himself off without so much as a glance at the offending player. The coach shouted something, but it was hard to tell if it was directed at Damian or the team in general.

Tim leaned forward, his expression darkening. “You think he’s okay?”

“He’s fine,” Duke said, though his tone lacked conviction. “Coach Calloway’s got it out for him, too. Nothing’s ever a foul when it’s Damian getting hit. One time, I had to jump on the field and yell at him because he ignored how another kid almost broke Damian’s ankle.”

Tim pursed his lips. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Duke said with a wry smile. “Not my proudest moment, but someone had to have Damian’s back. Calloway still hates me for it.”

“Good,” Tim muttered.

Duke chuckled, shaking his head, but his gaze remained fixed on the field where Damian had resumed practice. “I’m worried about him, you know? I don’t know… Am I being overprotective? I mean, I’m technically not even his brother, but it feels like I am, you know?”

Well, that was unexpected.

Tim blinked, the casual sip of his soda stalling halfway to his lips. The idea of Duke stepping into the role of a better older brother to Damian than him felt... wrong. Not because Duke wasn’t good at it—clearly, he was—but because Tim suddenly realized how much he didn’t know about Damian.

And it wasn’t because he didn’t care about Damian. He did—he really did. But when was the last time he actually checked in with him? Had a real conversation with him? Tim’s mind scrambled for an answer, coming up embarrassingly short.

He set his soda down, his appetite for fries suddenly gone. The silence stretched for a moment too long before he finally spoke. “You’re not being overprotective,” Tim said, trying to sound confident. “It’s what big brothers do, right? They worry.”

Duke glanced at him, his brow raised slightly, before nodding. “Yeah, I guess.”

Tim’s eyes drifted back to the field, watching as Damian sliced through the players with his usual sharp precision.

He no longer felt any lingering animosity from the attempts on his life or the tension that had defined their early days together. Not anymore. But they’d never talked about it—not really. And now, it felt like the time for it had passed.

There was an unspoken understanding between them now, a quiet truce that neither of them had formally agreed to, but it existed. Tim understood the way Damian operated, how he kept people at arm’s length, his guardedness never softening. It reminded Tim of the way he'd once been, somewhat. Maybe Damian still needed time. Maybe it was too late for him to be the person Damian needed, but the thought of them never truly connecting—never truly talking about it—lingered uncomfortably in the back of his mind.

Tim took a long sip of his drink. “You ever think about talking to Bruce about this?”

Duke chuckled dryly. “And say what? ‘Hey, maybe your kid needs therapy?’ Like that’d go over well.”

Tim grimaced. “Fair point.”

The whistle blew sharply, signaling the end of practice. Damian jogged toward the locker room. The other players slowly began to disperse, some laughing and joking, but Damian didn’t engage with them. His attention was elsewhere, as it always seemed to be.

A few minutes passed before Damian returned, his bag slung over one shoulder, and a towel hanging around his neck. His eyes quickly scanned the area before landing on Tim and Duke. He froze for a second, his gaze flicking to the table. A slight frown pulled at his lips when he noticed they hadn’t finished their food.

He walked over without a word and, without waiting for an invitation, pulled up one of the aluminum chairs and sat down between them. Duke looked at him, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, but didn’t say anything. 

“So, do you want to grab some food? I’m not really in the mood to cook,” Duke said, breaking the silence.

Damian glanced at him, one eyebrow arching in silent skepticism. “We got takeout, like, five days ago.”

Duke shrugged, unbothered. “So?” He grinned. “We haven’t done a proper welcome dinner for Tim yet. It will be in his honor.”

Damian’s gaze shifted to Tim, giving him an odd, unreadable look. He hummed noncommittally.

“So, what do you want then? Chinese again?” Duke asked.

Damian rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Shouldn’t Tim pick? It’s in his honor after all.”

Tim blinked, slightly caught off guard by the sudden attention on him. “Uh, sure,” he stammered. “Pizza?” 

Damian studied him for a second, then shrugged. “Fine.”

Duke’s grin widened. “Good! I’ll text Cass to get the table ready.”

“We’re using the dining room?” Damian frowned.

“Yup,” Duke replied with a playful emphasis on the 'p,' not missing a beat. “Only the best for our honored guest, Tim.”

Damian let out a quiet huff, clearly unimpressed, but said nothing more.

Three days later, Tim was descending the stairs of the manor, coffee in hand, his thoughts half on his unfinished work and half on the quiet hum of the house. It had been a few days since he’d arrived back home for the break, and it felt like things were beginning to settle back into some rhythm. His phone buzzing in his pocket interrupted his train of thought.

He pulled it out and saw a text from Duke. “Hey can u pick up Damian from high school? Got caught up with patrol, won't make it in time.”

Tim quickly texted back an affirmative response and, without a second thought, grabbed the keys to the Lamborghini parked in the driveway.

He picked the Lambo for no particular reason, definitely not because he wanted to play the cool other brother. 

He started the car and made his way toward Gotham Academy. He liked driving the Lambo. It was sleek, fast, and, well, flashy. Not that he was trying to impress anyone. He just enjoyed the thrill.

He parked at the school’s pick-up area, his eyes scanning the crowd of students milling about, but Damian wasn’t there. A few teens in their school uniforms clustered near the curb, chatting and laughing, but no sign of his brother.

Tim frowned, looking around for him. He could see a few of the teachers and staff lingering near the entrance, so he made the decision to park a little closer to the school, just by the front doors.

Getting out of the car, Tim locked it and made his way inside, his eyes scanning the halls as he walked through the familiar school building. The quiet of the empty corridor made him more aware of his surroundings as he walked.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from down the hallway near the boys' bathroom. Tim’s steps quickened, and as he neared, he could make out voices drifting from inside.

“Answer the fucking question weirdo.” A male voice growled.

A very cheerful female voice chimed in, “Grab his sunglasses, so he can look you in the eyes like a man. ”

Tim’s pace picked up.

“What’s wrong shorty? Are you mad?” A different male voice jeered just before Tim opened the door.

The scene that had unfolded in front of him was bizarre. There were six teens in the bathroom, all of them looking to be around fourteen years old.

An Asian girl, with brown hair wrapped into two buns, each adorned with a pink bow, was sitting in the sink with a lollipop in her mouth, smiling casually. She looked even younger than the rest, but it was probably because she had a baby face.

Across from her, a tan, brown-haired boy in a football hoodie and expensive-looking sweatpants was perched awkwardly on the small window ledge. He locked eyes with Tim immediately, but rather than flinching or showing any concern, he just stared back, waiting.

Leaning against the door of one of the stalls was a pale blonde girl, her blue eyes as icy as her unimpressed expression. In her hand, she held an electronic vape with a sleek, glowing screen. She only looked up when the door opened, not giving much of a reaction either.

Standing closest to the door was another boy, also Asian, but his features were obscured by the bulky black jacket he wore over his uniform, which covered most of his face, and a black beanie that kept his hair pushed down over his eyes. He had a cigarette in his hand.

Between that and the vape, the room was foggy.

But it was the tall, tan blonde boy in the center who drew Tim’s attention first. He stood with a smug grin, his eyes flicking over to Tim as he turned around. Tim's gaze immediately locked on the pair of sunglasses clutched in the boy's hand. Damian's sunglasses.

On the floor, Damian sat calmly, his expression neutral, maybe slightly irritated. He didn't move a muscle as the blonde boy towered over him.

The blonde boy turned to Tim, his grin not faltering. “What do you want? There’s another bathroom down the hall.”

The instant Damian’s eyes met Tim’s, his entire demeanor shifted. He made a move to stand, but the blonde kid shoved him back down with ease.  Tim could only stare. If Damian wanted all five of these children would be dead, but he allowed them to, what? Bully him?

“Is this not an asphyxiation hazard?” Tim managed to get out, still looking at Damian, who now had a big frown on his face.

The room erupted in laughter, like the five teens thought what Tim said was the funniest joke they’d ever heard. 

“Don’t worry about us, man,” the same blonde kid said with a smirk. “We’re still young.”

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but if you don’t want me to tell the principal, you better leave,” Tim said, putting on a voice he hoped was intimidating. “Now.”

The laughter ceased almost immediately, and an eerie silence filled the room. Tim could almost feel the weight of a silent conversation passing between the five of them. Then, the blonde girl stepped forward, her presence sharp as she stood directly in front of him. The kid with the beanie followed her.

"Look, man," the blonde girl said with a faint Swedish accent, taking a slow drag from her vape. "We don’t want any trouble. Just leave us alone, and you won’t get in any trouble."

Tim almost laughed in her face but kept his composure, standing tall.

“You know what they say,” the Asian kid with the beanie added, his voice calm but laced with menace. Then the rest of the group joined in, speaking in unison. “ Snitches get stitches. ” The chorus of voices was unsettling; it was said more as a chant than a sentence, and it unnerved Tim.

Tim’s gaze hardened. “I don’t think you understand,” he said, his voice sharp and commanding. “Either you leave him alone, or you deal with me.” His eyes locked onto the brunette boy perched by the window. “Borja Vega, right? I know your parents. They work with Wayne Industries. I don’t think they’d be thrilled to hear their son made them lose their biggest distributor by being a little shit.”

Borja frowned, but he didn’t answer; he just looked at the blonde kid, whose smug grin didn’t falter. The blonde guy casually tossed Damian’s sunglasses from hand to hand, his eyes never leaving Tim.

“Whatever, man. Let’s go.” He waved a hand dismissively, as though Tim’s words had no weight.

The rest of the group followed his lead, moving toward the door without another word. The blonde girl shot Tim one last glance, exhaling a plume of vape smoke as she turned to leave. The others trailed behind her, the atmosphere shifting back to the same disaffected air it had been before Tim had spoken up.

They filed out one by one, and just like that, the tension in the bathroom dissolved. The door clicked shut behind them, followed only by a very awkward silence.

Tim stood there for a moment, his heart still racing as the adrenaline of the confrontation began to wear off. He turned to Damian, who was standing up, eyes glued to the floor.

“Damian,” Tim started, taking a step toward him, his voice softer now. “Are you okay?”

Damian didn’t respond. He didn’t even glance at him as he walked past, his eyes staring off into the distance with a detached look.

Tim’s frown deepened.

With a frustrated sigh, he turned and walked toward the door to follow Damian. His footsteps echoed through the now-empty hallways, the cold air outside almost a relief compared to the tension he'd left behind.

He reached the car, unlocking it with a quick motion, and they both got into their seats silently. Tim desperately wanted to ask Damian what the hell that was about, why he didn’t just punch that kid in the face and leave.

But he held off.

Chapter Text

Damian was dreading going to school. That wasn’t a particularly new development, he’d never liked going to school, not even before the harassment started.

He wasn’t dumb. He knew exactly what the other kids were doing. They were insecure, looking for someone to target, someone they believed lacked the kind of support system that would make them do something about it. Damian did have a ‘support system’, he just didn’t think it was worth it to bother them with something as stupid as high school bullying.

He had reported it to their teacher when he first realized what was going on, but she didn’t seem to care much. So he decided to just ignore it.

After all, he’d endured much worse—torture that made these kids' petty games seem like child’s play. He’d heard far harsher things from people whose opinions actually mattered to him. A bunch of children subjecting him to their undercooked version of torture was barely an inconvenience.

Or so he thought. Because now, as he towards the school gates, he felt more dread than he’d felt in months. Even as Robin. 

Logically, he knew they couldn’t do anything too outrageous to him; they were on school grounds after all, and these kids were not murderers, but he couldn’t shake the awful feeling in his stomach.

He’d seen Ryan’s face yesterday. After Tim had threatened them, he’d seen the unmistakable flicker of rage in Ryan’s eyes. Damian knew that look. Ryan wasn’t just angry—he was furious, and Damian had a sinking feeling that today he’d be the target of said fury.

As he walked toward his class, a hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder with such force that he knew it would bruise. He didn’t flinch, though—he left it there.

He could easily retaliate, beat them all within an inch of their lives, and they’d probably leave him alone. But the consequences were too high. Bruce would be furious, and the risk to their identities was far too great.

Damian Wayne, the civilian, definitely couldn’t win a one-on-five fight. So, as humiliating as it was, he just went along with it.

The hand on his shoulder shoved him forward, guiding him toward a door that led out to the American football field. Damian walked in silence, knowing exactly where they were heading. They moved through the field and reached the old gymnasium—what used to be the main gym before the new one had been built across the field. Now it mostly just stored equipment.

The hand on his shoulder, Kwon Minho, opened the door of the gymnasium and shoved him forward. He stumbled, but he didn’t fall; he didn’t want to let them win just yet. 

Ryan Cooper’s blonde hair gleamed under a shaft of light. His presence was imposing, his posture confident as he stood at the center of the room, watching Damian with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

“What the fuck was that stunt yesterday, Wayne?” Ryan’s voice cut through the silence, loud and demanding. The challenge in his tone was obvious, but it was more than that—it was a bait, waiting for a reaction.

As Ryan spoke, Jang Jiwon, with her styled pigtails, connected her phone to a Bluetooth speaker. The beat of a song filled the room, the first notes of IVE’s “I’ve IVE” pulsing through the air. Damian barely contained a grimace. He’d heard this song enough times to know it was intentional. 

It wasn’t just for their enjoyment. Damian recognized the tactic—if a teacher walked by, they’d assume someone was practicing a choreography for P.E., or maybe a school club. The music would also drown out any raised voices. It was a decent enough cover.

Damian’s gaze flicked back to Ryan, who was still waiting for a response, his arms crossed over his chest. He was clearly trying to provoke Damian to get a rise out of him. But Damian wasn’t interested in giving him the satisfaction.

“No answer? He’s feeling shy now,” Ryan said, his voice dripping with mockery. He glanced around at the others, encouraging their attention.

Elin Olsson stood a little to Ryan’s left, vaping and leaning against an old treadmill with an expression that screamed boredom. Borja Vega, on the other side, was idly practicing ball touches with his feet, barely paying attention to the conversation. 

“Your brother wasn’t this shy yesterday, huh?” Ryan’s tone turned sharp as he stepped closer to Damian. That caught Borja’s attention; he stopped the ball under his right foot, his expression darkening.

“You should tell that fag to mind his own fucking business and leave us alone,” Borja spat, his voice trembling just enough to betray his nerves. “If I find out he said anything to my parents, you’ll have a lot of hell to pay, Wayne.” The threat, though growled, felt more like a weak attempt to regain control.

Damian cringed internally at the slur, but he didn’t let it show on his face.

Jiwon chuckled, twirling the charm dangling from her phone. “He was such a loser, too. Trying to act all intimidating and shit.”

Behind her, Minho clicked his lighter open, the tiny flame casting a flicker of light in the dim gymnasium. A sharp inhale followed as he lit a cigarette, the smell quickly filling the room and mixing with Elin’s blueberry vape.

Ryan sighed theatrically, shaking his head as though disappointed. “You know you’re going to pay for your brother’s disrespect, right?” His tone was calm, but the underlying threat was clear.

Damian stayed silent, refusing to give him anything.

That only seemed to annoy Ryan further. He stepped forward and grabbed Damian by the hair, yanking him down and forcing him to the floor. Damian stumbled but didn’t resist, biting back the urge to retaliate.

Ryan knelt beside him, his grip still tight in Damian’s hair. With his free hand, he slapped Damian hard across the face. The sound echoed in the empty space.

“Look me in the fucking eyes when I talk to you, weirdo,” Ryan barked, his voice filled with venom.

Damian met his gaze, his expression carefully blank, refusing to give Ryan the satisfaction of seeing any fear or pain.

Ryan’s grip tightened, his face inches away. “If you or your brother ever fucking threaten us again, I’ll make sure you end up in a ditch somewhere,” he hissed, his anger boiling over into his words.

Damian fought the urge to roll his eyes. The threat was so pathetically over-the-top that it barely registered. But he nodded, playing along. At this point, he just wanted them to get it over with so he could leave.

Yet, as he glanced around, he could tell they weren’t in any hurry. The casual way Minho leaned against the wall, the amused smirk on Jiwon’s face, the restless energy in Ryan’s movements—all of it told Damian they planned to drag this out. He sighed internally.

Ryan shoved him to the floor, and Damian stayed there, his body rigid but unmoving. Ryan paced a few steps away before abruptly turning back, driving his foot into Damian’s side with all the force he could muster. The blow made Damian wince slightly, but he refused to give them anything more.

Ryan frowned, clearly irritated by Damian’s lack of reaction.

Damian knew what they wanted: a show. They wanted him to cry out, to flinch, to give them a reason to puff up their egos even further. But after last night’s patrol, he was utterly drained. He didn’t have the patience or the energy to indulge their stupidity.

He briefly considered faking a pained yelp just to get this over with. He wasn’t above it, he'd done it before. But even then, he could tell from Ryan’s smug expression that this was going to drag out. So Damian chose silence instead. He wouldn’t embarrass himself further for their amusement.

“ 우리만의 자유로운 nineteen's kitsch, 우리-우리만의 자유로운 nineteen's kitsch, ” Jiwon sang absentmindedly along to the song to the music that was playing.

Ryan kicked him again, harder this time. “ This is how you throw a proper kick. Not whatever that pathetic shit you do on the field is.”

Damian nearly laughed. Out of all the insults Ryan could have chosen, that was the one he went with? There were things Ryan could claim to be better at than him, but football? Absolutely not. The sheer absurdity of it almost made Damian break his composure, but he stayed quiet.

Ryan leaned over, hands on his knees, glaring at Damian with that same fucking smirk. “What’s the matter, Wayne? No snarky comeback? Are you just going to take it like a little bitch ?”

Damian exhaled slowly, tilting his head to look at Ryan with an unimpressed gaze. “I don’t need to say anything,” he replied, his tone calm but cutting. “We all know what’s going on here. You’re insecure because you’re not the richest kid in the room, so you try to prove your worth with cheap theatrics and brute force.”

The air in the gym shifted, a collective intake of breath from the others as they waited for Ryan’s reaction.

Damian knew provoking Ryan was probably not the smartest move, but he was tired, okay?

Ryan’s foot was on his face before he was done psychoanalyzing him, the blow sharp and deliberate. Damian’s head turned slightly with the force, but he didn’t let out a sound.

Ryan straightened, snatching a cigarette from Minho with a muttered curse. He lit it with practiced ease, the flick of the lighter echoing in the stillness. As he knelt beside Damian, he took a long drag, then exhaled a plume of smoke directly into Damian’s face .

Talk about dramatic.

Ryan leaned in closer, his voice low and dripping with venom. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Always acting like you’re above everyone. But let me tell you something, Wayne—you’re just a bastard freak whose daddy didn’t care enough to look for his whore of a mother in Pakistan.” His words were laced with a dangerous edge, the kind that made it clear he was more than just frustrated—he was raging.

Damian frowned, his head tilting slightly, trying to make it seem like genuine confusion. “I’m not even Pakistani,” he stated flatly.

Ryan’s face twisted further, but before he could respond, Borja perked up. “Could’ve fooled me, with that fuckass accent.”

Ryan shot him a quick glare. “Wanna go at it?”

“Sure.” Borja spat on the floor, the sound echoing through the empty gym. Without hesitation, he kicked the ball, sending it straight into Damian’s face.

Laughter erupted from the group, some of them even doubling over in amusement. 

Then, suddenly, the Bluetooth speaker cut off. The music stopped abruptly, leaving the room in an uneasy silence. A softer, unfamiliar melody began to play. “ Baby, I'm just trying to play it cool, ” the lyrics floated in the air, carrying the distinct sound of K-pop. Damian didn’t recognize the song, but the abrupt shift in atmosphere made the tension feel even heavier.

Ryan straightened up, the smirk on his face replaced by a more calculating expression. “Okay, now. We need to get serious,” he said, and the rest of the group nodded in eerie unison. It was creepy how in sync they could be sometimes.

“Borja wasn’t very happy about his parents’ jobs being threatened,” Ryan continued, his tone deceptively calm. “And neither were we.”

“Minho, grab the bat,” Jiwon said casually, her voice almost sing-song as if this were just another day. Minho moved without hesitation, retrieving the bat from the corner of the room.

“So we need to make sure they get to keep their jobs, okay?” Ryan added with a smile.

Ah, so that’s what this was about. Great. So he’d have to have a very uncomfortable conversation with Tim later so he didn’t do anything. Fun. 

Minho got behind Ryan with his bat, something that was oddly not a new sight. Damian wasn’t worried; they’d never actually used it before, they just used it as a threat.

Ryan took a step closer, reaching out to grab Damian’s arm. Damian tensed slightly but didn’t pull away. Ryan brought his cigarette to the exposed skin of Damian’s forearm and pressed it down, the ember burning into his skin. Damian didn’t flinch.

The faint sizzle of burning flesh could be heard over the music, the acrid smell making a couple of the others grimace. Ryan’s frustration grew when he didn’t get the reaction he wanted.

“You really think you’re untouchable, huh?” Ryan sneered, his smile faltering for a brief moment.

Damian looked up at him, his gaze cold and unwavering. “I think you’re trying very hard to prove something, and it’s not working,” he said, his voice steady and cutting.

The song suddenly changed to something even more cheerful, “ Tick-tack, ti-tack, tick-tack-ta, 똑딱, Tick-tack, ti-tack, tick-tack-ta, 똑딱. ”

Ryan’s hand twitched, and the cigarette dropped from his fingers, landing on the floor with a dull thud. His jaw tightened, and his anger flared up, but he controlled it—barely. The anger wasn’t just directed at Damian anymore; it was boiling over into something more desperate, more volatile.

Damian could feel the shift in the air. He knew he was pushing his luck, testing the limits of what they would do to him. If it came down to it, he knew he could end this in a heartbeat—kill all of them even. But he also knew that if he let himself get beaten up and they got a good hit with the bat, they could definitely accidentally kill him. Somehow, Damian couldn’t bring himself to care.

Ryan seemed to decide his new pastime would be trying to see how many cigarettes he could burn on Damian’s skin. He would light them, take a drag, and then press the still-glowing tip to Damian's arm. After a while, Damian realized the ticktack song had been on repeat, its annoying melody echoing in the background. He started using it to measure time, counting the loops in his head.

“It seems wasteful,” Damian remarked on the fifth loop, his gaze fixed on the pile of nearly untouched cigarettes at his feet. “Do you know how much the average teenager would give for these?”

Ryan didn’t respond at first, only pressed the cigarette harder, reigniting spots already singed. “I don’t give a fuck. I’m rich,” he muttered.

“So you’ve mentioned,” Damian replied coolly, his tone almost clinical. “But I’m just saying, at this point, wouldn’t it be more efficient to just use the lighter?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Damian regretted them. The glint in Ryan’s eyes made him genuinely uncomfortable.

Ryan made a show out of grabbing the lighter and turning it on, the flame catching with a sharp snap of his thumb. Damian resisted the urge to scowl. He wished he’d just skipped like he’d originally wanted to do, but he knew that would’ve only delayed the inevitable. The pain wasn’t the issue; he could handle that. It was the marks—noticeable and hard to excuse—that concerned him.

Usually, he could pass off bruises or a burn here and there. After all, if anyone noticed, it would be in the med bay and could always be explained away as the aftermath of a fight or a training session.

But it was nearly summer now, and walking around with fresh cigarette burns—or worse—would definitely raise alarms within his family.

If it had been earlier in the harassment, maybe he could’ve said something. But now? It was just embarrassing that he’d let it go on for as long as he had without finding a solution.

Elin approached quietly, settling down cross-legged beside Damian, her eyes flicking over to the burned skin Ryan held with such casual indifference. “Don’t you think this might be a bit much?” Her tone was curious, not concerned—more like she was analyzing an experiment rather than showing empathy.

Ryan scoffed, clearly unbothered. “Nah, watch this.”

Minho, who had been watching from a distance, finally spoke up, his voice tentative. “ Unnie, you should record this.” He glanced over at Jiwon, who immediately lit up, her face practically glowing with excitement as she closed the gap to get a better angle. Perfect.

Just what Damian needed.

Borja was next, shuffling in closer, his gaze fixed on Damian's arm like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Damian felt the urge to lash out, to fight, maybe even to kill them all. But he squashed it down, forcing himself to stay still. He just had to get through this, and they’d probably get their kick for the year. After that, it would be nothing more than petty insults and the occasional punch, and then he’d be free. Until next year, that is—but he didn’t want to think that far ahead.

The lighter was almost the only light in the room, excluding a couple of beams of light that got through the now blocked-off windows. It moved closer to Damian’s skin, and he could feel the collective breath of the room hitch. The only noise was the song, which was now on its eighth loop. 

The moment the flame touched his skin, it was like a needle of fire piercing through. The sharp sting was immediate, the heat searing and intense.

After five seconds, the pain ramped up, evolving from a sharp sting to a relentless, burning ache. It felt as though the flame was boring deeper into his arm, melting the layers of skin and flesh.

Damian’s heartbeat quickened, a flicker of panic rising. If they held the lighter there much longer, there was a very real risk of nerve damage—something he couldn’t let happen. But at the same time, defying them outright would only escalate things, and he didn’t want that. He still had three more years of school with these people. The logical thing to do was to endure.

The smell was revolting: acrid and metallic, with a sickly sweet undertone that clung to the back of his throat.

By twenty seconds, the level of pain he felt would have been unbearable for anyone else. But Damian wasn’t anyone else. He glanced down at his arm, catching sight of blisters forming, swollen with fluid. The skin was peeling, darkened in spots he feared might already be third-degree burns.

In the field, pain like this was easier to ignore. There was always adrenaline coursing through him, some larger threat demanding his attention. But here, in this room, there was nothing to distract him. He could only sit and watch as his skin burned.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud—a sound of impact—and then the room plunged into darkness. Relief surged through Damian, not just because the flame had been extinguished, but because it meant he wouldn’t have to do anything about it.

“What the fuck ?” Ryan shouted, his voice tinged with anger and confusion. He had toppled over from the squat position he’d taken to hold the lighter against Damian.

Elin’s voice cut through the dark, sharp and frustrated. “If you’d left that there any longer, he could’ve had nerve damage! We’re trying to scare him, not end up in juvie!” Her Swedish accent thickened as she yelled.

Ryan rolled his eyes, dismissive. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Guys, let’s not fight!” Jiwon whined, shoving her phone into Ryan’s face. Then, with a grin, she turned on the camera’s flash and shoved it in front of Damian, blinding him. “Say hi, Dami!”

“Do not call me that,” Damian said flatly, trying to turn away from the light. He shifted slightly, but Jiwon grabbed his face, forcing him back into view.

Damian’s jaw clenched. There was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to punch her smug face, but he held back, suppressing the urge. She let go of his face with a smile. 

Ryan’s eyebrow arched, his smirk widening. “Oh? What’s wrong, Dami? Not a fan of nicknames?”

Without warning, Ryan’s fist connected with Damian’s face, sending him sprawling onto the floor. It wasn’t a hard hit, but it was enough to annoy him. Before Damian could even process it, Ryan’s foot slammed into his side.

Damian let himself zone out, detaching from the scene. His mind latched onto the looping song, counting. Loop twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. It gave him something to focus on, something that kept him present without actually being there.

By the fifteenth loop, Ryan seemed to grow bored. He stepped back, gesturing toward Borja. “Your turn.”

Borja eagerly stepped in, tossing his soccer ball at Damian. The first throw got a few chuckles, but by the third, the laughter had faded. Eventually, even Borja seemed to lose interest. He abandoned the ball and opted for something simpler—kicking Damian around.

By the twenty-fourth loop, Damian was only vaguely aware of his surroundings. The pain had become a dull throb, blending into the background of his consciousness.

Jiwon, surprisingly, stepped in next. She nudged him gingerly in the head with her foot, so gently it was almost laughable. It did little more than shift his head slightly, but she still recoiled as though she’d been the one hit.

Damian’s focus wavered, tuning in only when he heard her call Minho over. She whispered something to him, but Damian was too out of it to make sense of it—or to care.

Minho hesitated for a moment before delivering a kick to Damian’s head. It was hard enough to jolt him back to full awareness, the impact sharp and jarring. But Damian could tell Minho was holding back, his movements deliberate and controlled. Fear lingered in the boy’s eyes; he was scared of accidentally killing him.

“Unnie…” Minho began hesitantly, his voice shaky. He said something in Korean that Damian couldn’t understand, his words slipping past like background noise.

Jiwon frowned, her expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Minho-ya! Don’t be silly! We’re just having fun, right, Dami? ” She turned the phone toward him, the red recording light glaring in his face. Damian didn’t respond. 

Minho nodded, his discomfort evident as he stepped back, tugging his beanie lower over his face and lighting another cigarette.

As Damian lay there, he realized he wasn’t sure if he could even get away anymore if he needed to. His body felt heavy, worn down by the continuous abuse. While he was confident they weren’t intentionally trying to kill him, he wasn’t confident in their ability to avoid doing so by accident.

His arm throbbed, sharp and unrelenting. The thought of explaining his injuries to Duke loomed in his mind. How could he justify looking like he’d just barely escaped the Joker? He grimaced; he definitely had at least one black eye, and most of his face was probably swollen. During one of the kicks, he thought he’d felt blood trickling, but he wasn’t sure anymore—everything was a blur.

After what felt like one too many loops of the grating song—he’d long since lost count—Ryan turned to Jiwon. “Turn off the damn music,” he ordered.

The room fell silent except for the sound of his footsteps approaching. Damian braced himself as Ryan grabbed him by the hair again, yanking his head up roughly.

“This is just a taste of what’ll happen to you if your brother so much as thinks about threatening us again. Got it?” Ryan snarled, his breath hot and rancid against Damian’s face.

Damian stared at him, his expression carefully blank. The threat was hollow—he could see it in their hesitation earlier, in the way they pulled back just enough to avoid real damage. They didn’t have it in them to take things further. Still, he nodded, playing along.

Ryan let go, dropping him unceremoniously to the floor. The thud echoed in the now-quiet room. One by one, his five attackers left the room.

Once they were gone, Damian fumbled for his phone in his uniform pocket. The screen was cracked, a spiderweb of fractures marring the surface. He sighed in relief when it powered on—at least it was still working.

He glanced at the time. Classes would end in forty minutes. That was all the time he had to pull himself together or come up with a convincing excuse. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to sit up. He needed a plan.

Stiffly, he made his way to the old changing rooms. They were mostly abandoned now, a relic of an earlier era, and one of the few places on campus where he could be alone. The dusty mirror above the sink reflected a sight that made him pause.

He looked awful.

His left eye was swollen, the beginnings of a dark bruise blooming around it. A gash on his eyebrow had bled down his cheek at some point, leaving a dried, rusty streak behind. His lip was split, and his face was puffy everywhere.

He turned the faucet, the rusty handle protesting with a squeal before water sputtered out in uneven spurts. After a few seconds, the flow steadied. Damian sighed in relief; he didn’t want to risk going to the actual school bathrooms, where someone might see him.

He splashed cold water on his face, it was grounding, especially after spending the greater part of six hours disassociating. The water washed away the dried blood and grime, revealing a slightly cleaner but no less battered version of himself. He stared at his reflection, taking stock of the damage.

The gash on his eyebrow was going to be hard to explain. Everything else—well, he didn’t know where to begin. He considered maybe running to the manor on foot and hiding. But that would get questions, too, and it was too far away to realistically pull it off.

Damian’s fingers tightened on the porcelain sink as he let out a slow, measured breath. He was running out of options and out of time.

The next logical step was simple: deny, deny, deny. Make up some bullshit excuse and refuse to elaborate.

The real problem was Duke. Damian wasn’t sure if Duke would let him get away with lying straight to his face. He had this frustrating knack for seeing through him, as if by living with Damian he’d developed a radar specifically calibrated to pick up on his bullshit.

Chapter Text

Duke thought this was going to be a good day. He wanted it to be a good day.

He’d managed to make breakfast without burning anything, dropped Damian off at school, and even had a quiet patrol without encountering any major crime. Now, he was parked outside the school, waiting for Damian.

He wasn’t worried that Damian was taking a bit longer. The kid was usually one of the last to leave, so it wasn’t unusual.

But then he finally saw Damian.

He wasn’t walking out of the school building. He was coming from the direction of the American football field, and he looked like he’d just gone through hell. Bruised, swollen, and visibly battered. Duke had to grip the steering wheel tightly to stop himself from getting out of the car and demanding answers then and there.

He forced himself to stay put. Damian wouldn’t appreciate a scene, and Duke knew better than to push too hard too fast. So, he waited, watching as Damian climbed into the passenger seat, without even glancing his way.

Damian’s expression was carefully blank, but Duke could see the tension radiating off him. His little brother—yeah, he said it —looked like a coiled spring, ready to bolt if Duke said the wrong thing.

So, Duke said nothing.

He started the car and drove in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. So many questions bubbled up in his mind, but he shoved them down. Better to wait until they were back at the manor, where Damian wouldn’t have the option of jumping out of a moving car going one hundred kilometers per hour. He’d seen Ladybird.

When they parked, Damian was out of his seat almost before the car came to a full stop. Duke followed quickly, not bothering to lock the car. Damian was halfway to the stairs leading to the living room when Duke called after him.

“Come back here, Damian! You don’t actually think you’re getting away without an explanation, do you?”

Damian froze mid-step, his shoulders tensing, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, his gaze locked on the couch in the living room, where Tim sat with his laptop. Tim’s eyes were wide, staring at Damian like he’d been shot.

“Damian.” Tim started, setting his laptop aside and getting up. His voice was low but filled with concern. “Did those kids—?”

“No.” Damian cut him off way too quickly.

Tim stopped, his face shifting from concern to disbelief.

“Mind catching me up to speed?” Duke asked, his arms crossed and his frown deepening.

Before Tim could respond, Damian spun around and snapped, “What are you, my mom? Leave me alone!” Then, without another word, he bolted up the stairs.

Duke stood there for a moment, staring at the stairs where Damian had disappeared. “What was that…?”

Tim looked unsettled, a look of tension creeping into his face. “I… Yesterday, when I picked him up, he didn’t come to the car, so I went looking for him. Found him in the bathroom… getting, uh, bullied? By five kids. I pretty much threatened their parents...” Tim hesitated, then glanced at Duke. “I’m thinking I might’ve made a mistake.”

Duke grimaced, “Do you really think a group of fourteen-year-olds did that?” he asked, his voice low, struggling to find the words to bridge the confusion.

“I can’t think of any other reason why he’d be… so defensive.” Tim’s voice faltered, his words laced with regret, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Duke muttered, a little too quickly, “Couldn’t he just… I don’t know, knock them out?” He realized they’d both just been standing there in the living room awkwardly, unmoving.

“I…” Tim’s voice wavered, unsure. He was at a loss for words.

Duke exhaled sharply. “What do we do?” His voice softened, just a little. “I don’t want to leave him alone up there to wallow in self-pity, or whatever.”

“I have no idea,” Tim frowned. “This is Dick Grayson territory, I’m not…” His sentence trailed off as he struggled to find the words.

Duke’s mind briefly flickered to Cass, who was in the Cave. She was someone who understood how to comfort, but not necessarily how to draw out what Damian was thinking. She had a way of providing peace without asking the hard questions. He dismissed the thought quickly. They needed to understand what had happened.

“Should we… Call him?” Duke asked, his voice edged with hesitation. He winced as he said it, the idea of involving Dick felt like a cop-out, like they should be the ones handling it, not their oldest brother.

“Probably.” Tim grimaced, not happy about it either. The idea of calling Dick felt like admitting they weren’t enough, like they couldn’t deal with this on their own.

Tim ended up being the one to dial, his finger hovering over the call button for a long moment before pressing it. He bit his lip as he waited for the ringing to end, his stomach tight with apprehension. Duke stood beside him, his gaze flickering toward the stairs, his own worries about Damian growing by the second.

“ Hey Tim, what’s up? ” Dick’s voice came through the phone, slightly muffled.

“Hey Dick… Um, are you busy?” Tim asked gingerly.

“ No, I’m just cooking, ” Dick replied, but Tim could hear the change in his tone, how the background noise stopped as he sensed the concern in Tim’s voice. “ What’s wrong? ”

“It’s Damian. We have a… situation.”  Tim managed, his words stumbling over each other, not sure how to explain what was happening without making it worse. Duke cringed beside him.

“ A situation? Tim, you’re worrying me, ” Dick’s voice came through clearer now, the concern in his words unmistakable. Tim swallowed hard, guilt eating at him for causing that shift.

“Sorry, sorry, I just don’t know how to— Duke can explain better!” He threw the phone to Duke, who looked at him with a mix of betrayal and desperation.

Duke scrambled with the phone and shot Tim a glare, who put his hands together and rose his shoulders apologetically, “Hey Dick! Damian’s in his room right now; he's not in imminent danger.” He mustered. 

“ Okay… ” Dick sounded unsure. 

“When I picked him up earlier, he was…” Duke cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “In a state.”

Tim shot him a wide-eyed look, his eyebrows practically flying off his face in confusion. He heard Dick's voice crack through the phone, a confused “ What...? ” echoing in the quiet room.

Duke, unable to do anything about Tim’s silent plea to rethink his choice of words, pushed on. “I mean, he looked like an elephant ran him over.” Tim immediately started waving his hands in frantic denial, mouthing “no” in exaggerated desperation. 

“I mean, he looked beat up—like someone beat him up, bad.” Duke’s words spilled out faster, a little too loudly. He knew he’d probably made things worse, but he was trying his best. “And Tim thinks he might be getting bullied because—Tim, you tell this part!” Duke almost shouted, throwing the phone back at Tim. His exasperation was palpable.

Tim groaned, his face in his hands as he took the phone back. This was not how he wanted this conversation to go. He could feel the weight of Dick’s glare on him, even though he was hundreds of miles away.

“Yesterday, I found him in the school bathroom while five kids were insulting him. He was on the ground. I don’t know.” He said quickly.

The long silence felt suffocating. “ What did you do? ” It wasn’t meant to sound threatening, but Tim felt his anxiety spike.

“I might’ve threatened one of the kids’ parents’ business,” Tim admitted, cringing at how bad it sounded in hindsight. He could almost hear Dick's disappointment through the phone. It was too late now, though.

There was a brief pause, before Dick spoke again, his voice sharp but controlled. “ Where is he now? ”

“In his room. He ran upstairs the second we tried to ask about it,” Duke answered.

There was the soft sound of keys in the background, and then Dick spoke again, his voice lighter but still tinged with concern. “ One of you should go up to talk to him. I’ll be there in an hour and a half. ”

“Dick, you’re amazing. Thank you, oh my god.” Tim sighed in relief, rubbing his face.

“ Yeah, you’re welcome. But actually go talk to him. Not at the same time. Please. ” Dick’s voice was warmer but firm. The call ended with a soft click.

For a moment, Tim thought about asking Duke to play rock-paper-scissors to decide who would go, but then he remembered how mediocre he’d been at the big brother thing—not just with Damian, but with Duke as well. He couldn’t keep passing the responsibility around.

This time, he was going to be the one to do it.

“Fuck it, I’ll go,” Tim said, more to himself than Duke. Without waiting for an answer, he made his way up the stairs, determination in his stride.

When he reached the hallway in front of Damian’s room, he slowed down, hesitating for a moment as he considered his next move. The door was closed, as expected. He knocked softly, unsure of what kind of reception he’d get.

There was no answer, but he could hear the sound of water running from the bathroom.

“Damian? Can I come in?” Tim asked, trying to keep his tone casual, though his nerves were still there.

“Fuck off!” Damian’s voice came through, louder than expected, muffled by the sound of the water.

Tim sighed, figuring that was the best he’d get. But he didn’t let that stop him. He opened the door slowly, preparing himself for a potential batarang to the head. To his surprise, there was no immediate attack. Instead, he heard the sound of movement from the bathroom, and the faint squeak of a door closing hastily.

Before Damian could close the door entirely, Tim stepped inside. “Damian?” he started, his tone firm but concerned.

Damian, with his arm hidden behind his back, kept his expression eerily neutral. “I thought I told you to fuck off.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You can’t seriously expect us to ignore that you came home from school looking worse than coming from patrol,” he said, his words laced with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

“I can,” Damian muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

Tim wasn’t about to let that slide. “What’s with the arm?” he asked, his voice lowering slightly, trying to gauge Damian’s reaction.

Damian stiffened but didn’t respond. Instead, he attempted to close the door again, using his free hand. Tim, however, wasn’t having it. He held the door open, pressing in. “Damian, the arm. Please. ”

Damian’s expression darkened as he glared, but he remained silent, still trying to keep the door shut. Tim, sensing that wasn’t going to work, reached for Damian’s arm, his grip firm. The second he made contact, Damian sucked in a sharp breath.

Tim’s stomach dropped.

“What the actual fuck…” He gaped.  His voice came out in a whisper, disbelief lacing his words. Damian tried weakly to yank his arm back, but Tim held on tight. “Are those… cigarette burns?” 

Damian, frozen in place, didn’t speak. He just stared at his arm, his face a mixture of anger and something else Tim couldn’t quite read. His eyes were unfocused, distant, like he was somewhere else entirely.

Tim’s gaze fell on one particular burn, a jagged and blistered mark that seemed to go deeper than it should have—second-degree at best, possibly third. It was raw, red, and black, and almost too much to look at. “ Jesus Christ, ” Tim whispered, horrified by the damage. This wasn’t your typical schoolyard bullying.

“Damian?” Tim’s voice softened as he tried to make eye contact, his heart sinking when the boy refused to acknowledge him. Instead, Damian just kept staring at the burn like he couldn’t believe it was his own.

“Did those little shits do this?” Tim asked again, his voice tinged with frustration and worry.

Damian didn’t respond, his attention fully fixed on his arm now. Shit. Tim had no idea how to handle this. This was beyond his level of emotional intelligence if he was honest with himself.

“We should probably take care of this,” Tim said, his voice steadier than he felt, trying to push past the tightness in his chest. “Water’s not going to do much. We should go to the cave, we have medical supplies there…” He was trying to sound calm and confident, like Dick would.

But the moment the word ‘cave’ left his lips, Damian’s body went rigid. His eyes shot up, wide with panic, and he immediately started looking around as if trying to find a way out. Tim cringed.

“Okay, okay, cave’s a no-no. Got it,” Tim said quickly, trying to calm him down, his voice soothing but laced with concern. “Hey, you’re okay, Damian. It’s fine. No one’s mad at you.”

Damian nodded absently, his movements slow and detached. He wasn’t fully present, but there was something different in the way he moved—like he was allowing himself to be led, if only just a little. He guided himself down the stairs with minimal effort, his expression still unreadable. When they reached the bottom, Tim’s gaze flicked to Duke, a silent plea flashing in his eyes. Don’t say anything.

Duke seemed to understand because he simply stared. He definitely noticed the burns, too, because his jaw tightened. 

Tim carefully lowered Damian onto the couch, kneeling in front of him to meet his gaze. “Damian,” he began softly, voice steady but thick with concern, “Can you tell me exactly what’s wrong? Are there any other injuries we need to know about?”

Damian didn’t answer right away. His eyes, still glazed, met Tim’s briefly before drifting somewhere off to the side, distant. He wasn’t fully there but it was better than upstairs.

“Damian,” Tim tried again, a little more gently, but with a touch of urgency, “where does it hurt?” His voice softened, trying to keep the compassion in check, he knew how much Damian hated being talked to like a little kid. But it was all Tim had left. 

Duke watched them both from the background, his gaze full of tension, his body unmoving except for the slight twitch of his hands

“ God, I’m going to feel like an asshole,” Tim muttered under his breath. “Robin. Report. ” 

The words seemed to cut through the haze surrounding Damian, his eyes lifting to meet Tim’s. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Damian took a breath and then, in a detached monotone, began listing off:

“Black eye, busted lip, gash on the eyebrow… multiple burns on the right arm, including what’s probably second or third-degree burns on the forearm. Ribs are bruised. Right leg feels broken, but it’s not. Might have a mild concussion, but I’m not sure. I… I think that’s it. I could be wrong.”

Tim tried to stay impassive as his little brother talked, but it was proving hard to do. He glanced at Duke, who had a similarly pained expression on his face. Tim didn’t want to push his luck with more questions, so he got to fixing him up.

He carefully shifted Damian's arm, positioning it in front of him so he could assess the damage more closely. His eyes scanned the burns, the angry red and blackened skin, the areas where the tissue had already begun to blister. The worst of it was near the middle of his forearm, where the skin was charred, the tissue deeply damaged—definitely third-degree in that spot. The rest of the burns, though serious, appeared to be second-degree, angry, and raw, but not as severe.

Damian didn’t flinch when Tim gently touched his arm to start cleaning the wounds, but his eyes were locked on the floor, his whole body stiff. Tim glanced at Duke, who was watching quietly.

Tim took a deep breath and spoke quietly, trying to keep his voice calm. "We need to cool the burn before we do anything else. It’s going to hurt a bit, but it’ll help stop the damage from getting worse."

Damian’s only response was a shallow, almost imperceptible nod. Duke got to the kitchen and grabbed a piece of clean cloth and made it damp, he handed it to Tim. Gently, Tim placed the cloth over the burns on Damian’s arm, starting with the less severe areas. As he reached the third-degree burn in the middle of the forearm, Damian’s body tensed, a sharp breath escaping his lips. 

"I’m sorry," Tim murmured, his voice soft.

Damian didn’t respond, his jaw clenched tightly as he tried to ignore the pain. Tim could see him fighting not to react, not to show just how much it hurt. He let the cloth sit there for a moment before moving to the next step—he needed to dry it off gently before applying a burn ointment to reduce the risk of infection.

Duke, unable to watch anymore, stepped forward, his hands at his sides, but not sure what to do. “What else do we need? Should we be doing something else for the pain?” he asked quietly, glancing between Tim and Damian.

Tim looked up at him for a moment, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "We need to keep it clean, apply ointment, and wrap it to protect it. After that, I think we can manage the pain with ice and rest." He glanced back at Damian, whose eyes were squeezed shut, his lips pressed together in a tight line. "But we’ll need to monitor it to make sure there’s no nerve damage.”

“I’ll go to the cave to get it,” Duke said. “We should probably tell Cass too, she’d like to, um,” He glanced at Damian, but he didn’t seem to react in any way. “She’d like to be in the know.”

Tim nodded, and then Duke was gone.

Once Duke came back, ten minutes later, Tim carefully applied the burn ointment, trying to be as gentle as possible. He could feel the way Damian's arm trembled under his touch.

Tim glanced up as Dick Grayson stepped into the room, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced with immediate concern at the sight of the three of them huddled on the couch.

Dick’s steps quickened as he approached, his gaze bouncing from Tim’s strained expression to Duke’s tight-lipped worry, and finally to Damian, who still hadn’t looked up. Tim could see the exact moment realization dawned on Dick—the widening of his eyes, the subtle tightening of his jaw, and the sharp intake of breath as he noticed the burn.

Tim worked methodically, wrapping sterile gauze around the area with practiced care. “Damian, are you with us right now?” he asked gently. There was no response.

Dick crouched beside them, his voice as gentle as he could muster. “Hey, Dames. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Damian muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes refusing to leave his hands. Tim exchanged a glance with Duke.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Dick tried again, keeping his voice calm, steady, and patient.

Damian shook his head no without looking up, his face carefully neutral.

Dick exhaled slowly, then turned to Tim and Duke. “Go grab the full medical kit from the cave,” he instructed, his voice taking on the quiet authority they all recognized. Tim and Duke didn’t argue, disappearing quickly to retrieve more supplies.

They worked meticulously once the kit arrived. Damian barely reacted as they treated him. His silence was unnerving. But they could tell he was aware now—just choosing to disengage.

By the time they finished, Damian’s arm was fully wrapped in gauze, protecting the burns. An elastic bandage supported his thigh where deep tissue damage had been addressed, and a fresh line of stitches crossed his brow. Painkillers had dulled the ache in his bruised ribs, and his mild concussion was carefully noted for monitoring. He’d changed into his Batman pajamas without a word and shuffled back downstairs.

Dick sent Tim and Duke to the store to get a bunch of food for dinner, it was mostly an excuse for him to be able to talk to Damian alone.

Once they were by themselves, the manor felt unnervingly quiet. Dick found Damian sitting stiffly on the couch, his posture tense despite the exhaustion etched into his features. Without hesitation, Dick sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

“This is an outrageous overreaction,” Damian said abruptly, his tone clipped and defensive.

Dick raised an eyebrow, his voice calm but laced with sarcasm. “Really? My littlest brother comes home looking like he just got tortured by the CIA, and I’m overreacting by… what? Asking if you’re okay? Trying to figure out what happened?”

Damian scoffed, “It’s none of your business, Richard.”

Dick’s expression darkened. “Your entire right arm is bandaged. You might have irreparable nerve damage. I think that qualifies as my business, Damian. We need to understand what happened to assess the risk.”

“There is no danger,” Damian said, his tone firm but his frown betraying a sliver of doubt.

Dick leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but unwavering. “Really?”

“Yes, Richard. Really, ” Damian snapped, his irritation rising. “I dealt with it.”

“So you can promise me this will never happen again?” Dick pressed, his eyes locking onto Damian’s.

For a moment, Damian faltered. “Yes,” he said, but the word lacked conviction.

Dick could see through him. “I don’t believe you.”

Damian crossed his arms defensively, only to wince in pain as the movement pulled at his injuries. He quickly dropped them back to his sides, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“Look, Damian,” Dick said, his tone softening. “I’m not Bruce. I don’t need a full report or debrief. I just want to know what’s going on.” There was a hint of desperation in his voice, and Damian’s gaze faltered, unable to hold eye contact.

“You can probably just watch the video,” Damian muttered bitterly, his voice low but sharp. “Whenever it gets posted on Telegram or something.”

Dick’s jaw tightened, but he tried his best not to react, “It was planned?”

“Obviously,” Damian replied, his tone clipped and resigned.

Dick inhaled deeply, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t really want to watch a video of you getting hurt, Damian. I just want to hear it from you. Please. Just talk to me.”

For a long moment, Damian was silent, his expression guarded. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “It was nothing,” he said, but the edge in his voice betrayed him. “High school bullies who think they’re in some gangster movie. That’s it.”

Dick stayed quiet, waiting.

“They felt intimidated by Tim’s threat to their parents’ business,” Damian continued reluctantly, “so they roughed me up to send a message.”

“‘Roughed up’ is quite the understatement,” Dick said, pressing his lips together tightly.

“They got trigger-happy,” Damian shrugged. “They didn’t like the lack of reaction.”

“Damian—”

“It doesn’t matter, Grayson. I’m okay. I know how to handle myself,” Damian interrupted.

“Grayson?”

“Richard,” Damian corrected himself quietly, the slip betraying his unease.

Dick exhaled, his expression softening. “I don’t really know how to ask this,” he began, his voice unsteady, “but why didn’t you defend yourself? You’re more than capable.”

Damian paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It would’ve only made it worse. And our identities would be at risk.”

Dick’s jaw clenched, and he leaned forward, his voice filled with quiet intensity. “Damian, if it comes to that, I would rather all of our identities get revealed than see you beaten up and left for dead.”

“That’s hardly fair. ‘Left for dead’ is an exaggeration,” Damian muttered, attempting to brush it off.

“Damian.”

“Sorry,” Damian murmured, looking away.

“So you just took a beating,” Dick said carefully, “and let them burn you with…?” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“A lighter,” Damian answered flatly.

Dick’s throat tightened as he swallowed. “A lighter,” he repeated, the weight of the word hanging in the air. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “You let yourself be burned with a lighter and cigarettes—for the sake of maybe risking our identities?”

Damian nodded shamefully.

Dick stared at him, his frustration warring with his concern. “And you didn’t think to tell anyone?”

“I told my teacher when they started to single me out,” Damian admitted quietly. “But she didn’t do anything.”

“Damian, you shouldn’t have to carry this alone,” Dick said, his voice steady. “You need to come to us—any of us—if something like this happens again, and—”

“I’m not stupid, ” Damian shot back bitterly, his eyes narrowing. “I know how bullying works. Save the speech for some other kid.”

Dick looked at him earnestly. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Then don’t treat me like I am,” Damian retorted, his voice sharp as his glare pierced through Dick. “If I beat them up, I get in trouble. If I threaten them, I get in trouble. The teachers won’t do anything, and I’m not changing schools. They aren’t either. What else is left to do?”

Dick’s frown deepened, the frustration in Damian’s voice hitting him harder than he expected.

Damian’s breath quickened slightly. “We can’t threaten all their parents,” he continued, his words coming out in a rush. “Borja’s dad depends on Wayne Enterprises, fine. But Ryan’s family? They’re the second richest in the school after us. Jiwon and Minho’s parents are tech moguls in Korea. Elin is part of the Swedish royal family. What are you going to do? Realistically, there’s nothing. It’s not worth it.”

His voice trailed off, the exhaustion in his words leaving an uncomfortable silence between them. Damian’s shoulders sagged slightly, as though the weight of everything he couldn’t change had caught up to him all at once.

“Damian,” Dick said gently, breaking the silence. “There are always options. If nothing else, you could be homeschooled. Like Duke.” He paused, searching Damian’s face for a reaction. “And I don’t care how powerful their families are. What they did is criminal. We could bring them to court.”

Damian’s face paled instantly. “No.” 

Dick tilted his head slightly, his tone soft but insistent. “Why?”

“I’m not… I don’t want to—” Damian stammered, his usual composure faltering as he struggled to find the words. 

Dick’s gaze softened, his concern evident. “Damian, this isn’t about making a scene or exposing you. It’s about making sure you’re safe.”

“I’m safe. I can defend myself,” Damian said.

Dick arched an eyebrow. “But you won't.”

“I can take it.” Damian snapped, frustrated.

Dick nodded slowly. “I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to.”

Damian groaned, his exasperation evident. “You know as well as I do that if it wasn’t me, it’d just be some other kid. At least I can handle it.”

“That’s not a solution,” Dick said gently, his voice steady but full of quiet emotion. “It’s not your job to endure this for someone else’s sake.”

Damian’s gaze hardened. “I’m Robin.”

Dick grimaced, the weight of that single statement hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. “I know,” he said softly.

“Robin protects kids,” Damian said firmly, his words laced with a conviction that left no room for doubt.

“I know,” Dick repeated, his voice catching slightly. He took a deep breath, leaning forward, his tone soft but unwavering. “But you’re also a kid, Damian.”

Damian flinched as though the words physically struck him. His expression faltered, the mask of certainty slipping for just a moment before he quickly rebuilt it.

“Not like them,” he muttered, almost defensively.

“Exactly like them,” Dick countered, his voice gentle but firm. “You deserve the same care and protection you’re so determined to give everyone else. You’re allowed to be a kid, Damian.”

Damian’s eyes flashed with frustration, his voice rising. “So what did you want me to do? Knock all five of them out and walk away? Because that wouldn’t be suspicious at all.”

Dick sighed, his expression grim but patient. “I just wish you’d told us sooner,” he said quietly.

The words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved. Silence fell over them like a coarse blanket, pressing down on everything they’d said.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Damian woke up with a pounding headache, most likely from the concussion, and he took a shower. He hadn’t had time the day before. After his brothers convinced him to eat something, he went straight to bed.

Well, he lay there for a couple of hours, then eventually passed out. Close enough.

His arm hurt a lot, but apart from that, most of the other injuries weren’t too bad. He was still limping slightly, but it was better than yesterday. He grabbed his uniform and got dressed before walking down the stairs.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tim appeared behind him on the staircase, wearing pyjamas.

“Going to breakfast?” Damian replied without looking back.

“You can’t seriously think you’re going to school today.” Tim was already frowning.

When they reached the living room, Damian sat down in front of Cass, who smiled at him.

“ Tt. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know? Maybe because you got your ass kicked so bad yesterday you might have nerve damage ?”

There was a beat of silence. Tim instantly looked like he regretted his harsh choice of words. “Damian, shit I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever.” Damian stood and turned on his heel, heading back to his room. He felt both their eyes on his back until he was gone from sight.

He closed the door, let out a shaky breath, and dropped onto his mattress. His mind was buzzing, trying to line up his thoughts. He needed a plan. He had to figure out how to convince them to let him go back to school— and how to keep them from interfering. From doing something to his… bullies.

He lay there for five minutes, unmoving, until there was a soft knock on the door. Too gentle to be any of his brothers.

Cassandra stepped in and sat on the edge of his bed without a word.

“I don’t really need another lecture right now,” Damian muttered into the mattress. He knew he was being dramatic, lying like this, arms flopped out like a sulking child—but he didn’t care.

“I wasn’t going to lecture you,” Cass said simply.

Silence settled between them. Neither one moved to break it. Damian felt drained, body and mind both heavy. There was a weight pressing on his chest, something that felt a lot like guilt—or shame. He hated that look in his siblings’ eyes, that unspoken judgment. And worse, the instinct he had to explain himself . To make them understand .

He sat up.

“I couldn’t hurt them,” he said, voice low. “I didn’t want to go too far.”

Cass nodded.

Damian shook his head. “They don’t understand that.”

“It’s hard,” she said softly. “Figuring out when to fight and when not to. Violence is like an animal. You can never really own it. But you can trust yourself.” She was looking at him with something that Damian was grateful wasn’t pity, but understanding.

He looked back at her, eyes shadowed.

“ How? ” It slipped out, more desperate than he meant it to be.

Cassandra closed her eyes for a moment. “It’s difficult.”

“Sometimes I feel like I can’t control it,” Damian said. He swallowed, throat tight. “Do you ever feel like… if you go too far, you won’t come back?”

Cass met his gaze. “Yes. Sometimes I feel like I already have. Like there’s no version of me that gets to live without… atonement.”

There wasn’t hesitation. No dramatics. Just the truth, offered plainly. That meant more to Damian than a dozen reassurances.

He let out a low hum, unsure of what to say.

“But you don’t have to let yourself get hurt to make up for who you were,” she said quietly.

“You all keep saying that!” he snapped, more wounded than angry. “What was I supposed to do, then? I know I should’ve said something earlier, I know , but I didn’t. So what was I supposed to do yesterday?” His voice cracked, frustration bubbling over.

Cass didn’t respond right away. Instead, she shifted closer and, slowly, carefully, pulled him into a hug—gentle and deliberate, mindful of his reaction and injuries.

Damian tensed at first. Then, inch by inch, he let go and sank into her embrace.

Let himself be held.

Tim paced around the Kitchen.

Dick sat on the counter, watching him with a mix of concern and mild amusement.

“I know Damian doesn’t want me to do anything to those little cunts ,” Tim said for the fifth—or maybe fiftieth—time. “But I really want to, Dick. I really do .”

He’d been ranting for half an hour now. Dick had long stopped reacting.

Duke shuffled in, bonnet crooked, robe trailing behind him, clearly fresh out of bed. “Damian up yet?” he asked mid-yawn, rubbing one eye.

“Yeah, and he thought we were gonna let him go to school,” Tim replied, incredulous.

Dick rolled his eyes.

“Fat chance,” Duke muttered, tying his robe with a lazy knot.

“Thank you,” Tim said, gesturing like Duke had just proven a major point.

“The kid just wants some normalcy, he’s not a masochist. He’s already embarrassed enough.” Dick said.

Tim groaned. “I am so close to telling that Borja kid’s parents that his shitty kid just ruined their relationship with their biggest distributor. I am not going to take part in building that little shit’s trust fund.”

“Tim, you’re overreacting,” Dick said mildly.

“ Overreacting? ” Tim repeated, half-yelling, looking genuinely offended.

Dick held up a hand. “Okay, maybe not overreacting. How about… overcompensating?”

Tim scowled and leaned on the counter. “That’s your opinion.”

Duke snorted into his mug.

“I still want to punch that Borja kid in the face,” Tim said eventually.

“We know,” Dick and Duke said in unison.

Tim crossed his arms. “Okay, but seriously. What are we doing about them?”

Dick sighed. “Damian’s not asking for revenge.”

“No, he’s asking us not to make it worse,” Tim said. “But that doesn’t mean we ignore it.”

“They’re kids,” Dick said. “Assholes, yeah, but still kids.”

“I could tank that kid’s dad’s company by next week,” Tim muttered. 

“I’m not against it…” Dick said, rubbing his jaw. “But it wouldn’t help Damian. Might even make things worse.”

A beat of silence.

“Where’s Cass?” he asked, only now realizing she wasn’t there.

“Upstairs. Talking to Damian—I think,” Tim replied, a little calmer.

Right on cue, Damian and Cassandra entered the kitchen and sat down at the table.

The silence that followed was total.

“ So, Dick,” Duke said, way too casually, “how’s Blüdhaven been?”

“Oh, well. It’s Blüdhaven.” Dick smiled weakly. They both laughed, too loudly and too fast.

Damian groaned as Cassandra handed him a cup of tea. “You don’t have to pretend you weren’t talking about me. It’s fine. I can handle it.”

Dick sighed. “ Look, Damian. If you don’t want anything done, we won’t. If you change your mind… we will.”

“We’ll support whatever you want to do.” Duke nodded along.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Okay, sure. Then let me go to school.”

Tim, Cassandra, Dick, and Duke looked at eachother with an apreheansive expression. Damian clicked his tongue.

“That’s not a good idea,” Tim muttered.

“Okay, then what am I supposed to do? Be homeschooled like some weirdo that can’t handle being in school with other people?” Damian asked, anger surfacing involuntarily.

“ I was homeschooled… ” Duke muttered, he didn’t sound offended, just amused.

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with being homeschooled. But that’s not the only option. You could change schools, too. The only thing I know is I’m not letting you go back there with those little assholes.” Dick said, crossing his arms with authority.

“You don’t let me do anything. I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, Grayson, but you are not my father.” Damian raised his voice.

Silence engulfed the room, everyone looked taken aback. Even Damian.

Dick seemed like he wanted to say something, but he held off. He walked out of the kitchen wordlessly. Damian winced.

“Damn, that was rough,” Duke said, walking past Damian too.

“Yeah, kid. A bit much.” Tim sighed, following behind.

Damian grumbled, “Don’t call me kid. ”

They all slowly filed out of the kitchen, Cassandra squeezing his shoulder comfortingly, and left Damian there, by himself. He left the full cup of tea on the counter and went upstairs. He couldn’t stomach anything right now.

Tim spent the next few days building a file on each of the kids. He started with names. Then background. Then profile.

Borja Vega

Age: 15

Nationality: Spanish

Affiliation: Vega Maritime Logistics (Family-owned)

Background: Heir to one of Europe’s largest shipping conglomerates. Parents operate within both legitimate trade and rumored gray-market channels. Born in Barcelona; fluent in Spanish, English, and Catalan. Transferred to Gotham Academy at age 14 for “cultural exposure.” Plays soccer.

Psych profile (inferred): Narcissistic tendencies, charismatic, thrives in structured environments with clear social hierarchies. Multiple reports of intimidation in group projects.

Elin Olsson

Age: 14

Nationality: Swedish

Affiliation: House of Bernadotte (Swedish Royal Family)

Background: Daughter of a minor royal branch. Public-facing image is pristine—attends charity events, diplomatic functions. Keeps a curated social media presence. Records indicate top grades, but frequent complaints from peers about "coldness" and “exclusionary behavior.”

Psych profile (inferred): Strategist. Avoids direct confrontation. Operates through passive-aggressive tactics and peer manipulation. Uses politeness as a weapon.

Jiwon Jang 

Age: 16

Nationality: Korean

Affiliation: J-Tech Industries (Family-owned conglomerate)

Background: Parents run one of South Korea’s largest tech firms. Company involved in software, defense contracts, and A.I. development. Transferred to Gotham Academy at 13. Known for top-tier academic performance and aggressive social maneuvering.

Psych profile (inferred): Highly intelligent, low empathy. Believes in systems, especially those he controls. Enjoys seeing others fail—particularly when he orchestrates it.

Minho Kwon

Age: 14

Nationality: Korean

Affiliation: Same extended family as Jiwon Jang

Background: Technically a cousin, but records show frequent contact. Enrolled one year after Jiwon. Quiet, observant, often underestimated. Academic performance above average. No major discipline issues, but implicated in two anonymous tip-offs about hazing.

Psych profile (inferred): Operates in the shadows. Likely gathers information and relays it to others. Prefers control through silence and precision rather than dominance. Will do whatever Jiwon says because of her seniority.

Ryan Cooper

Age: 15

Nationality: American

Affiliation: Cooper Holdings, Inc. (Real Estate, Energy, Pharmaceuticals)

Background: Gotham native. Family wealth on par with the Waynes. Parents are largely absent—based in Metropolis and Geneva. Lives alone with rotating domestic staff. Highest allowance of any student on record. Multiple behavioral red flags: physical altercations, suspension records quietly erased.

Psych profile (inferred): Entitled, charming when useful, lacks impulse control. Resents authority unless he can control it. Seeks dominance, especially over students from high-profile families.

The worst part came later: the Telegram video. He made sure the rest didn’t see it, but getting rid of it was proving to be difficult. Accessing Telegram’s back wall was hard. And since Telegram doesn’t save texts, it was difficult to get anything, especially since he couldn’t involve the police, at Damian’s request.

Tim had to see the video, or parts of it, multiple times as he tried to erase it from the Internet. He had to sit and watch those assholes burn and beat his little brother while he didn’t do anything about it.

The Damian in the video was eerily docile. It felt like watching a doppelgänger. He was also stoic, too stoic for the amount of pain he must have been feeling. At least that stoicism made the video slightly easier to watch. Tim didn’t think he would’ve been able to watch it if Damian showed the amount of pain he was in.

A week later, he finally deleted the last trace of the video he could find. He knew he couldn’t erase it from the hard drives of everyone who might have downloaded it, but he could ensure that if it ever resurfaced online, it would be taken down immediately.

He found Damian in the garden, sitting on a bench and absentmindedly tossing a ball for Titus. His arm was still wrapped in bandages, and the cigarette burns were stark against his skin, but a lot of the bruises had started to fade, and the swelling had gone down.

Without a word, Tim sat beside him and quietly handed him a USB. Damian glanced over with a puzzled expression. Titus leapt into his lap, eager for attention, but Damian ignored him.

“There’s enough dirt on them in here to ruin their families. Leave them broke. Ashes,” Tim said, grabbing the toy ball from Damian, before hurling it across the lawn, barely containing his anger. He exhaled slowly. “You never have to use it. But it’s yours, if you ever do.”

Damian turned the USB over in his fingers, saying nothing. The light caught on the plastic casing. For a moment, he looked young. He looked his age.

Tim didn’t press him. He leaned back against the bench, eyes on the horizon, where the last of the sunlight was bleeding into the trees. The silence stretched, broken only by Titus’s paws thudding against the grass and the distant hum of the city.

“Do you want me to keep it?” Damian asked finally, his voice hoarse, like he hadn’t used it all day.

Tim shook his head. “You can do whatever you want with it.”

“Okay,” Damian said, turning to look at Tim. “Thank you.”

Tim just nodded. 

Damian was tired. Tired of all of his family treating him like he was volatile.

He knew he’d been acting weird these past few days, but he couldn’t help it. He felt spacey, absent. He was slightly detached, it was like his brain couldn’t process what happened properly. 

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. He’d been in his room, trying to draw something, but he couldn’t think of anything. He was stumped.

Frustrated, he shoved the notebook away and stood. He headed for the attic, Alfred trailing behind him. The cat had been clingier than usual lately.

Damian pulled down the trapdoor and climbed onto the roof. It was one of the few places he could think.

Alfred meowed, annoyed at being left behind, but Damian didn’t trust him not to fall off. He was a spoiled house cat, not built for rooftops.

He sat on the roof with a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and inhaling deeply. He knew his father and his siblings would disapprove of this habit. It was objectively a bad decision on his part, especially because he needed to be in the best shape possible to be Robin. And for soccer, too.

But it just felt so… nice after, even if the taste sucked. He felt lighter, his mind a little foggy. It was easier to ignore his thoughts and, well, reality. The dopamine hit helped, too.

“Hey.” A voice behind him said.

Damian jerked, turning to see Duke sitting beside him.

It was unlike him to allow someone to sneak up on him, but then again, he hadn’t really felt like himself in a while.

“Can I?” Duke asked, extending a hand.

Damian frowned slightly, but handed him a cigarette nonetheless. Duke grabbed the lighter from where it was sitting on the floor and lit it.

They sat there for a minute. Quietly. Damian was glad he didn’t say anything; he wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure what Duke wanted to talk about either, but he had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t like it.

“I would think you’d feel a certain way about these, seeing as… You know.” Duke said, gesturing vaguely toward Damian’s arm.

Damian looked down at his arm and saw the now mostly healed cigarette burns that littered his skin. He shrugged.

“Apparently not.” He muttered.

Duke just took a drag of his cigarette.

Damian didn’t know what to think of the whole situation. The bigger part of him thought it was stupid, he’d had worse. Getting beaten up by a bunch of kids should not affect him as much as it did. But that was the issue. It was affecting him.

He felt sad. A feeling Damian thought he’d grown out of by the time he realized how useless it was to let his feelings control his actions. He was, objectively, above something as stupid as sadness. But here he was. He was sad.

For the past few days, he’d been rethinking everything he could’ve possibly done to make those kids hate him. 

Now, Damian wasn’t dumb. He knew they wanted to target someone they thought they could control, someone who wouldn’t say anything about it. Someone insecure. He just wasn’t sure why that someone had to be him. Why did they pick Damian to torment specifically? What about him made them think he’d be a good target?

The worst part is they’d been right.

Damian didn’t say anything, at least after the teacher shut him down. And he had to admit that, deep down, he was insecure. He felt different. He was different. He just didn’t know how those children were able to tell.

They could’ve picked anyone else. The main thing that separated Damian from their classmates was the fact that his family was the wealthiest. But that couldn’t just be it. There had to be more to it.

Duke seemed to sense that Damian’s thoughts were starting to suffocate him. Something in his face, or maybe his demeanor.

Damian hadn’t known he was so easy to read.

So transparent.

He definitely felt like glass right now, just waiting to crack at the smallest bump. Maybe his siblings were right to treat him like he was going to break any moment. Maybe he would.

“One time,” Duke said, taking another drag of his cigarette. “When I was going to school, and this was before my parent were… You know , there was this guy in my class. Tyrone, or Tyrus, or something. I don’t really remember. He decided that I was funny. Not in a you-tell-good-jokes way, more like, ‘you amuse me, court jester’, kind of way. You know?” He mimicked speaking like royalty. Damian chuckled.

Duke was looking towards the expanse of the garden, an almost nostalgic look on his face. Damian didn’t interrupt, but he grabbed a second cigarette once the one he was smoking ran out. 

“He was an asshole, would go out of his way to talk to me in front of his friends. I was kinda quiet back then, and they thought getting me to talk was funny. I felt like a circus animal.” Duke explained.

Damian didn’t know what to say to that.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, it’s not like it’s the same. I guess I just wanted you to know. It’s not you. They do that shit to anyone.”

Damian frowned. He wasn’t sure what Duke said applied to him. It’s pretty common for more popular kids to bother quieter ones. But he appreciated Duke’s vulnerability, the fact that he’d share that with Damian.

Damian supposed he could also be qualified as a ‘quiet kid’. But it wasn’t him being shy, he just didn’t like to interact with the idiots he called his classmates.

Damian suddenly felt small, almost like a little kid. Maybe that’s why those words left his mouth. 

“Am I weird?”

He felt like a child, asking that. But the question had been plaguing his mind ever since he got here. Ten years old. Too immature for adults, too grown up for kids his age. He’d never felt normal. He wasn’t normal.

He used to think that was a good thing. He wasn’t so sure anymore.

Duke spared him a glance before going back to staring into the horizon. He took another drag before answering. “Yeah, but so what? Everybody’s weird.”

Damian didn’t know what to do with that.

Dick found Damian on the couch, laying down, scrolling on his phone.

The kid had been on his phone a lot, he’d also been avoiding them. Dick wondered if they were related. 

He stood in the doorway to the room until Damian realized he wasn’t by himself. It took longer than it should’ve. Dick walked to sit where Damian’s legs were, he lifted them and placed them on his lap. He casually turned on the TV.

Damian was looking at him like he was insane, but he went back to scrolling once he realized Dick wasn’t going to say anything to him.

Dick got through an entire episode of Hawaii 5.0 before cracking.

“I know I’m not your dad,” Dick said. The show kept playing.

He didn’t miss how Damian tensed, but he didn’t lift his gaze from his phone.

“But,” Dick’s throat was suddenly dry, his eyes stung. “I do love you, and I feel like I don’t say that enough. While Bruce was gone and you were my responsibility… it wasn’t a great time for me. But you made it bearable. You gave me a purpose. You motivated me to be better. More patient, kinder.”

Dick didn’t realize he’d started crying until he went to rub his eye and his hand felt the wetness. He chuckled, not breaking his gaze from the TV. “And I miss spending time with you. I know it’s mostly my fault, since I’m the adult here, but I miss you. I miss us. ”

Damian sat up, putting his phone down. Dick realized his eyes were glossy too. He’d put on that scowl that he used when he was trying to hide his emotions. Dick held the boy’s legs that were still resting on his lap a little tighter.

“We were the best,” Damian muttered.

“We were.” Dick laughed wetly. “ We were… ”

He wiped his tears before shifting so he could hug his little brother. Damian dind’t reciprocate, but he didn’t move away either, which Dick counted as a win.

“I may not be your father,” Dick said into Damian’s hair. “But you will always be my kid. ” 

Damian quickly returned his embrace, holding his big brother tightly, like he might evaporate if he let go. He couldn’t help the tears that escaped his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Damian mumbled into Dick’s t-shirt. “I’m sorry,” He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. But he felt guilty.

Dick held him tighter.

“There’s nothing you have to apologize for. You’re okay.” He reassured him, running one hand through his hair. “ You’re okay. ”

They stayed there for what felt like hours. Dick didn’t think it was enough. 

Eventually, Damian started to pull away. Dick grabbed the kid’s head in his hands before he could retreat emotionally. He looked into those big green eyes. They were so expressive. Even when Damian didn’t want to show what he felt, Dick could tell what he was thinking through his eyes. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to make you think you couldn’t come to me for help,” Dick said, voice craking wih emotion.

Damian took a shaky breath, breaking eye contact briefly. “You haven’t done anything… That’s the problem.” He said it so quietly Dick wondered if he’d imagined it for a moment.

He frowned. “You’re right. And I am sorry, I should’ve visited. I should’ve—”

“Did you think about it, or did you forget about me?” Damian interrupted him. The comment might have felt like a dig from anyone else, but he knew Damian. He was asking genuinely.

“I didn’t think about it as much as I should’ve.” Dick admited.

Damian seemed content with that answer. He hummed.

“I am glad,” Damian mumbled. “That you consider me your kid.”

“How could I not?” Dick smiled, he let go of his face to ruffle his hair. Damian scowled. “My little robin.”

“Now you are just doing too much. Okay. Too far,” Damian protested, trying to get away from Dick, who seemed determined on ruining Damian’s hair. Not that it was styled in any way.

“ My little robin. You’ll be okay. ” 

Damian rolled his eyes, embarrassed. But, deep down, he wanted to believe that, yes, he would be okay.

He would be okay.