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Peter Burke hurts for his friend as Dick is sworn in to testify against his father. Bruce Wayne sits at the defendant's table in a subdued suit. Without the glow of nighttime and the gentle airbrush of photo shoots, he looks big. Without a smile, he looks angry. The way he holds himself has changed, and he looks dangerous.
Nea-Dick. Peter is still getting used to that. Dick sits in the witness booth right in front of his father. He looks at Wayne for a second, then turns to the prosecutor who will be questioning him.
“Mr. Grayson,” The prosecutor, a kind-looking older woman named Joan Cambites starts.
“Grayson-Wayne.” Dick interrupts. Then, seemingly realizing his faux-pas, gives a bashful smile. “But please just call me Dick, Ms. Cambites.”
“Well then Dick, please call me Joan.” Ms. Cambites says. “Why the insistence on Grayson-Wayne?”
“B-“ Dick stutters to a stop, glancing fearfully at Wayne. “Bruce likes it.”
Peter shudders. Bruce Wayne, like any billionaire, likes to put his name on the things he owns. The fact that for Wayne, his children are on the list of things he owns, makes Peter sick with rage.
“Does he get mad if you don’t use his last name?” Ms. Cambites asks casually. Peter’s watched her trials before, and she does a very good job of making the testimony feel like a conversation, which puts the witness at ease, and makes the jury pay more attention.
“I wouldn’t say mad,” Dick hedges. “More…upset. And I’ve kind of been pushing that one recently.” He wrings his hands once, glances sharply at Wayne, and stills.
***
“If they come looking for Batman, they can’t be allowed to find him,” Bruce tells this to every new child he takes under his cape. “If they get too close, all they will find is a man who hurts his children.”
Dick hadn’t understood what that would mean. Jason did. Tim had hated the idea of trading neglect for abuse, and Steph had hated the idea of trading the abuse of a villain for the abuse of a billionaire, even if the abuse was fake.
It had taken Damian years to come to terms with the lies they’d need, and Duke had barely had the time to get used to living with them when they had to start preparing the lies. Cass had hated teaching her family the right body language to fake it.
***
“Let's talk about that. For the past few years, you’ve gone by a different name. What was it?” Ms. Cambites asks.
“Yes ma’am. I was going by Neal Caffrey until last year.” Dick says politely.
The defense will call Dick a conman, but if the prosecution has already revealed it, then his time as Neal Caffrey can’t be used as a hidden gotcha. His skill with lying will still be used to discredit him, but that’s why his brothers Jason Todd-Wayne and Timothy Drake-Wayne have agreed to testify.
“Joan is fine.” Ms. Cambites reminds with a smile. “Why did you change your name?”
“A clean break. I wanted to get away from Bruce and Wayne Manor.”
“A clean break.” Ms. Cambites echoes for the jury. “What did you do?”
“Well, I didn’t have any legal documentation for ‘Neal Caffrey’,” Dick says, “So I couldn’t get a job.”
“Did you take any money with you?”
“I stashed my allowance for a few months before I left, and Cass made me take some of hers with me, so I had that. But Bruce has access to all the accounts under my legal name, so he’d…know. Where I was. If I withdrew.”
“After the money ran out, what did you do?” Ms. Cambites asks with all the concern of a mother.
This part, Peter knows. And ever since he found out what drove Dick to commit his crimes, he’s felt like shit for ever arresting his friend.
“I, well. I’ve got a pretty good eye for art.” Dick flushes and looks at his lap. He’s picking at his fingernails. “And it turns out I’m really good at replicating it. So I…” He takes a fortifying breath and looks back at Ms. Cambites. He looks ashamed.
“I forged art. Passed it off as originals or I…I stole the originals and replaced them with my forgeries.”
“You turned to crime rather than return to Bruce Wayne?” Ms. Cambites looks to the jury, emphasizing this part.
Dick takes a stuttering breath. “Yes.”
***
The whole family is sitting in their favourite living room, each holding folders labeled with their names in Tim’s angry scrawl.
“I hate this.” Tim fumes.
“I know,” Bruce says into his hands. “Me too.”
Dick and Jason’s folders are the thickest. They have the most scars that will need to be explained. Every scar has a story, and they need to memorize not only their own, but everyone else’s, and remember what happened as fact.
Bruce looks up at them. He looks ruined. Like a man whose love wasn’t enough to protect his family. “No matter what happens, I love you. Don’t you forget that. No matter what you say, I will always love you.”
***
“When you were arrested as Neal Caffrey, did you contact Mr. Wayne?”
“No ma’am. Joan.” Dick corrects himself.
Peter knows Dick didn’t make that mistake. The man he knew as Neal for the better part of a decade would never make that mistake. Dick feels uncomfortable and threatened, and when he feels like that he retreats. Makes himself weaker. Less intelligent, less perceptive, an easy target for someone looking to hurt.
Peter doesn’t wonder where he learned that.
“And why was that?” Ms. Cambites isn’t allowed to put herself between the defendant’s table and the witness stand, because Wayne has the right to see his accusers. But she puts herself very close and keeps moving to draw Dick’s eyes to her, not his father.
Dick opens his mouth, seems to struggle for the right words, and closes it. Peter has never seen his friend without silver on his tongue, and it scares him. It scares him how much even being in the same room as Wayne affects Dick.
After a few more attempts to say something, Ms. Cambites cuts in. “Were you worried Mr. Wayne wouldn’t help you?”
“No.” Dick’s answer is instantaneous. “No, he-“ Dick cuts himself off.
“He?”
Dick looks at Wayne. “He always came when we called.”
“So why didn’t you?” Ms. Cambites pulls Dick’s attention back to her.
“Because…wow, because a lot of reasons. I was a coward, I guess. Didn’t want to deal with the consequences of my actions.” Dick starts fiddling with his fingers, picking at his nails. He glances at Wayne and stops, laying his hands flat on his thighs.
“Why would there be consequences for calling your father for help?” Ms. Cambites is very good at knowing when calling Wayne Dick’s father will have the most impact.
“Well, I broke a lot of rules. So once his lawyers got me out of the charges, I’d still be, um. Punished. I decided I’d rather whatever punishment the state deemed appropriate.” Dick explains uncomfortably.
“And can you give the jury a quick rundown of your charges and sentence?”
“Sure, I’d love to talk about my crimes. It’s the dream of every convicted felon,” Dick jokes weakly. “I was arrested for bond forgery and sentenced to four years in prison.”
“What kind of prison did you serve your time in?”
“Ah, Supermax.”
“Supermax for bond forgery?”
“I’m really good at running away.” When Dick says this, he’s looking at his siblings with something like regret in his eyes. “The FBI agent that caught me didn’t want me to escape.
“And did you serve your full four years?”
“Almost.”
“Almost. What stopped you?”
“I escaped. So it looks like they were right to label me a flight risk.” Dick picks at a non-existent spec of dust on his pant leg.
Peter knows it isn’t there, because Dick had stressed about his appearance all morning. He’s spotless. He can’t be anything less when his father, who wears bespoke suits even to court, is watching.
“Could you explain the circumstances of your escape?” Ms. Cambites asks. Not all witnesses need to be pulled from one step to the next like this. Many are content to tell their story all at once, with very few nudges in the right direction from the lawyer questioning them, but Dick’s been having trouble telling the truth after spending so long running from it.
“I had been getting weekly visits from my boyfriend, Wally. He broke up with me a few months before my time was up, and he wouldn’t do that. I was worried, so I went to look for him.” Neal tells his hands. “I didn’t find him before the FBI found me, so I cut a deal with them. A work-release program.”
Wally is safe now and has been sitting with the family on their bench every day of the trial. He’s okay now, but another FBI agent had been trying to use Wally against Dick, so there had been a time when he was in real danger.
“So you could continue to look for Wally?”
“Objection, leading.” One of Wayne’s lawyers calls out, a woman around Dick’s age who will cross-examine him.
“Sustained.” The judge waves her hand and nods to Ms. Cambites.
“I’ll rephrase.” She acknowledges. “Why did you choose to cut a deal with the FBI?”
“Because I would have been thrown back in a better Supermax, and Wally would still be in danger,” Dick answers.
“What was your deal?”
“I was a Criminal Informant for Agent Peter Burke in the White Collar Crimes division of the New York FBI office, tethered to a two-mile radius with an ankle tracker monitored 24/7 by the US Marshals.” Dick recites.
“You were hunted down, arrested, tried, imprisoned, and released into the custody of an FBI agent, all under a name for which you held no legal documentation, when salvation was just one phone call away.” Ms. Cambites muses aloud. “Why?”
“Because his salvation isn’t worth the price,” Dick says firmly. “Not to me.”
Jason Todd-Wayne had called for Bruce Wayne’s salvation once. Alone and scared and hurt, he’d called for Wayne because he’d tried to find his birth mother and found only pain. Wayne had come for him—
(“He always came when we called.”)
—and hadn’t been seen in public for two years.
“How old were you when your father first hurt you?” Ms. Cambites asks suddenly. She’s laid the foundation, introduced the jury to Dick Grayson-Wayne and Neal Caffrey, and now she’s introducing them to the real Bruce Wayne.
“Ah…haaa, this sounds horrible.” Dick laughs nervously. “Like physically? Or emotionally?”
“Let’s start with emotionally.” Ms. Cambites decides.
Dick purses his lips. “Okay, bad question on my part. That’s a toughie to nail down. Did I get enough hugs? Probably not. But that’s more of a long-term thing.”
“True,” Ms. Cambites nods. “So how about physically? How old were you when your father first laid a hand on you?”
Dick nods to himself, looking at his hands. He rubs them together, glances at Wayne, stops. Swallows roughly. Starts again.
“I, uh, it was a few months after he adopted me. So I guess I was eight.” Dick catches Peter’s eye.
He has an expression on his face that Peter has seen before, when a criminal they were chasing was pointing a gun at Dick’s chest. An expression that begs, please-help-me-I-don’t-want-to-be-here. Peter can’t help him this time. He clutches El’s hand tighter and tries to project strength to Dick.
“What happened?” Ms. Cambites is very good at her job, but her job is to re-traumatize Peter’s friend in public in as mild a way as possible. He hates her. Almost as much as he’ll like her if she gets this conviction.
***
“The first time Bruce hurt me was because I broke a rule,” Dick tells Tim. Off to the side, Bruce makes a wounded sound. Dick’s seen Bruce get shot exactly where he was stabbed the night before and make less noise.
Tim’s in charge of quizzing them tonight, and he’s decided to emulate the questioning they’ll receive in depositions and on the witness stand. They’re in the family’s sitting room, across from each other on the couches.
They’ve never talked about this in hypotheticals, because to pull off a con you have to believe it, at least a little bit. Even though to sell it, Bruce doesn’t need to say anything, he still needs to listen as his kids say everything that isn’t true, and he needs to be able to take it.
The rest of their siblings are there too, listening and trying not to react. This quizzing session is as much practice for Dick and Bruce as it is for the rest of them. The cameras will be on the whole family, so they all need to perform.
“What was the rule?” Tim asks, eyes fixed on Dick’s
“Children are meant to be seen, not heard,” Dick answers, returning Tim’s stare in kind.
“What did you do?”
“I cried at dinner.”
“Why?”
“I was eight, and I’d watched my parents die three months before. It’s a miracle I held out as long as I did.”
Bruce’s even breaths choke him and Jason slaps him roughly on the back a few times. They don’t say anything. Dick is the one on the witness stand.
***
“Alfred, Bruce’s butler, he made a dinner that reminded me of my mother. He was trying to be kind. I was eight. I cried.” Dick says tonelessly.
“And your father hurt you for that?” Ms. Cambites asks.
“Children are meant to be seen, not heard.” Dick intones in a cadence not his own. “That’s the first rule, and I broke it. There have to be consequences for breaking the rules because otherwise, you don’t respect the rules.”
“Did Mr. Wayne tell you that?”
“Yeah. Yes.” Dick corrects himself with a flick of his eyes to the defendant’s table.
“Did your father have many rules?”
***
“We all need to know the rules,” Jason tells them. He’s standing on one side of the screen in their most frequented lounge room, arms crossed. Alfred has provided comfort foods, and Bruce is holding Damian on his lap. Tight, because he’ll have to let go.
“Dick, Tim, and I have to know them best because we’ll be the ones testifying. Steph and Cass, you’ll need to know the basic ones and have a general idea of what’s safest, because that will influence how you act in public. Duke and Damian, you’re still learning. You look to your buddy or me and Dick to figure out what you’re supposed to do.” Jason instructs. He gestures to the first slide of the presentation.
“Behind me, you see our buddy system. These are the siblings you stick with at all times, and the ones you default to when seeking help.” Jason, Dick, and Bruce have structured these initial presentations like BatBriefings, to give the little ones the small comfort of familiarity.
Dick steps up, takes over. He and Jason are already practicing handing the baton back and forth between them, as the official ‘shields’ for their younger siblings.
“Jason is the one who stayed, so you look to him first and foremost when you need help or guidance. Tim and Steph were there when I ran away, so you two resent me a bit. You have the freedom to decide how much, and how that will influence your public character.” He says.
It hurts to say these things because they’re lies built over truth. Because he did leave them. Not for as long, and not for as selfish a reason, but he still did. “Cass, you were my buddy when I left, so you were angry but you understood why I had to. Damian, Duke. You were adopted after I left. There’s no resentment, but less of a relationship. You turn to Jason before me.”
“When Bruce adopted me, Dick taught me the rules.” Dick and Jason work well as a team, never leaving dead air between them. This is good. This will sell. “And when Bruce adopted Tim, we taught him together.”
“When he adopted Steph, we implemented the buddy system,” Dick says. “Tim and Steph, me and Jason. Jay and I were louder, kept Bruce’s attention on us, and the two of you stuck together.”
Jason turns to Cass. “Cass, you picked Dick to be your buddy when you were adopted. It was his job to protect you, and my job to protect Tim and Steph. When Dick left, I was your buddy. Damian, when you were adopted I designated Cass as your big buddy and got louder to attract more punishments while Cass taught you the rules.”
Dick turns to Duke. “You buddied with Tim and Steph because they had the most experience in the house and were established as a team and could more easily incorporate you. Cass and Damian were still working themselves out. When I came back, I buddied with Jason again, so you know me mainly as a shield like him.”
Duke nods. He shifts uncomfortably, and Steph puts an arm around his shoulders. “Why didn’t I buddy with Jason? If it was Tim and Steph, Cass and Damian, and Jason alone?”
“So I could focus on protecting all of you,” Jason answers. “Good question.”
“Next,” Dick says as Jason clicks to the second slide. “The rules.”
Dick and Jason volley rules and their corresponding punishments back and forth. Tim takes notes. Steph is glued to the screen, and Damian frowns as he tries to take it all in. Duke commandeers the bowl of caramel popcorn.
***
“Yeah,” Dick says, voice hoarse. “There was a lot.”
***
Dick isn’t sitting with Peter and El when Jason Todd-Wayne is sworn in. He sits with his siblings on the bench they’ve taken over every day of the trial. Damian's only ten, far too young to be here, but Peter knows that either Dick or Jason has to be with their siblings or they all get anxious and jittery. And sometimes, to feel safe, you have to see the monster defeated with your own eyes.
“Good afternoon, Jason.” Travis Ford, another prosecutor on the case greets.
“Afternoon, sir,” Jason smirks, lazily sprawling in the hard wooden chair.
Peter instantly knows the role Jason played in the family. He was the one that pissed off Wayne, took the punishments, and never learned. He was the shield that weathered Wayne’s anger and protected his younger siblings who couldn’t take the hits like he could.
Before Ford can start his questioning, Wayne sneezes.
“Fuck you!” Jason says, a knee-jerk reaction. A vicious thing pulled from his gut.
And Wayne says, “Language,” Mildly, on autopilot.
They both freeze. Jason looks at Ford, seemingly stunned by his own mouth. The courtroom is silent for a moment, broken only by choked-off laughter turning to a violent cough. Peter looks at Wayne’s kids and sees Tim patting Duke’s back.
“I will remind the witness not to talk to the defendant,” The judge says, recovering first. “And I will remind the defendant not to speak to the witness.”
Wayne nods to the judge, and Jason smiles sheepishly with a few too many teeth.
“Sorry ma’am. Muscle memory.”
***
“My holy Jesus, Jason!” Steph yells. “Way to fuckin’ blow it!”
“It’s fine! It’s fine! I’m supposed to be the antagonistic one anyway! If anything, this sells it even better!” Jason ducks under a flying book. “Is that mine?!”
“Yeah, and then Bruce says ‘language’ like the most mild-mannered Clark Kent there is!” Steph continues, picking up another book.
“Woah, woah! Let’s leave Miss. Austin out of this.” Dick intervenes. He gently rescues the book from Steph. “Look it wasn’t ideal, but we didn’t think to train out the small things. Jason fixed it. We hope no one notices that Bruce broke character and move on.”
“The look on your face was real funny though,” Duke chuckles.
Jason melts. Getting one of the little ones to laugh these days has been getting harder and harder. His fuck-up is worth it, just for that.
***
“Jason, what were the circumstances that led to your adoption by your father?” Ford asks, smoothly moving on from Jason’s outburst.
“Bruce or Wayne. That man is not my father.” Jason spits the last word out.
“Wayne, then. What were the circumstances that led to your adoption by Wayne?” Ford corrects. This is something Ford would know, having already done hours of depositions with Jason. Nothing is a slip. Everything is a performance for the jury.
“He parked his car in the wrong part of the Narrows.” Jason grins. “Had some real nice tires, so I tried to steal them?”
“Why?”
“I was homeless. And an orphan. And twelve, Ford. It was steal or turn tricks, and the working girls wouldn’t let me do the second.” Jason shrugs.
Peter can almost hear El’s heart breaking.
“You tried to steal his tires. What happened next?” Ford moves on, not lingering on Jason’s vulnerability for too long. Just long enough air time for the jury to realize the huge power disparity between Wayne and the hungry kid.
“He came back before I could grab the last one. I panicked, tried to hit him with my tire iron, and he somehow decided I was the kind of Crime Alley trash he could turn into a proper Bristol Brat.” Jason sneers.
“And what was Dick’s reaction to Mr. Wayne bringing you to Wayne Manor?”
“He wasn’t happy. Got into an argument with Bruce, saying he was trying to replace him. I thought he hated me.”
“Did he?”
“Hate me? No, he was protecting me. Dick taught me the rules so I didn’t have to learn them the hard way like he did. He got in a lot of fights with Bruce before I learned how to follow ‘em.”
“For the jury, why do you believe Dick got in those fights with Mr. Wayne?” Ford isn’t moving as much as Ms. Cambites did, but Jason seems less scared of Wayne than Dick was.
“Same reason why I got into fights after Bruce brought more kids and Dick left. He was being a good big brother.” Jason states. “He was what, fifteen? Watching his abuser grab another little kid? He decided I was his little brother to protect before I even knew his name.”
***
It’s Steph’s turn to quiz them tonight, and she’s decided to do it Jeopardy-style.
“I’ll take ‘First Injuries’ for three hundred, please Steph.” Duke decides.
“Okay!” Stephtaps her tablet and a question appears on the screen. “Jason Todd-Wayne’s first injury at Wayne Manor.”
Cass buzzes in. “What are two broken fingers in his left hand?”
“Incorrect.”
Tim buzzes. “What is a bruised jaw?”
“Correct! Three hundred points to Timbo.” Steph grins. “The first punishment Jason ever received was two broken fingers but that did not take place in the Manor.”
“Tricked me!” Cass cries, outraged.
“Be better!” Steph returns gleefully.
***
“Did Mr. Wayne ever touch you or your siblings?” Ford asks.
“No,” Jason snarls, lip rising to show a canine. His lip curls oddly around the scar from an old split. “Never. I’d’ve killed him if he tried it.”
***
“I’m just saying, people will ask. They’ve already been asking.” Bruce shouts to be heard above the outrage. “A lot of you fit the same profile; white or white-passing, black hair, blue eyes,”
“And I’m just saying,” Jason snarls, half a wounded beast, held back by Dick’s hand on his chest, “That if we add sexual abuse to the list of lies we have to tell about you, I’m outing you as Batman to the whole FUCKING WORLD!”
***
Peter can’t see Wayne’s face during the day. There are cameras pointed at the defendant’s table for the live broadcast, peering over the witnesses’ shoulders, so they can see how Wayne’s face never changes from his stern, well-hidden anger. There are time lapses online, showing how little he moves as he listens to his victims’ testimony of his crimes.
Vicki Vale sits in the back of the courtroom every day, and Peter remains peripherally aware of her always. She hadn’t believed the allegations until it was revealed that the eldest three Waynes would be testifying for the prosecution. She’d insisted that she’d spent years digging for dirt on the Waynes, and if there was any truth to the allegations, she’d have uncovered it years before.
Peter doesn’t know if it's a bruised ego, professional pride, or if there was some truth to the rumours that she’d slept with Wayne early in her career, but Vale had been adamant. Still was, if you believed the talk around town.
But she hasn’t published anything, hasn’t accused Dick and his siblings of lying. If she does, Peter and just about anyone who watched Dick nearly cry on cross-examination will have words for her.
***
Everything was going perfectly. Dick and his siblings had lied to the court for weeks, and the lawyers for months before that, and they were going to land their father in prison on false charges. Even though Bruce had made this plan himself, had told them time and time again that it was fine, Dick still hated himself. He thinks they all hate themselves.
They’d tried to shield the little ones from the guilt as much as possible. Dick, Jason, and Tim were the only ones who’d testify. The only ones who’d have to look Bruce in the eye and lie about him.
Everything was going perfectly, until the second last day of Tim’s cross-examination, when Vicky Vale found their cover story files and gave them to the defense.
***
“Timothy, do you know what this is?” Wayne’s lawyer Vasquez asks, holding up a thick manila folder. Tim stiffens, eyes widening.
“How did you…?” He halts.
“What about this one?” She picks up another folder, this one thicker. “Or this one?” She keeps setting folder after folder on the thick railing in front of the witness stand until seven of them are laid out in a line.
“Where did you get these?” Tim asks. He doesn’t touch them.
Peter looks to Dick to see if he recognizes the folders, and stares. All of Wayne’s kids are sitting bolt-upright with identical expressions of poorly-hidden shock and fear. Jason looks at Dick, and he shakes his head, disbelieving.
“Yes or no, Timothy, do you recognize these files?” Vasquez pushes, a shark who has found the chum bucket.
“I-“ Tim looks helplessly at Dick, then Wayne, then Dick again. Dick pulls out his phone, stands, and leaves the courtroom at a brisk pace. Wayne leans over to his lead counsel, seemingly also confused.
“Judge Winter,” Vasquez demands.
“Answer the question, Mr. Drake-Wayne.” Judge Winter frowns.
“I-yes. I recognize them.” Tim answers, more uncomfortable and afraid than he’s been the entire trial.
“Do you know who prepared these files?”
“Me and-“ Tim cuts himself off.
“Objection!” Ms. Cambites calls. “The prosecution has not seen these files! They were not turned over in discovery.”
“They were given to us last night, your honour. This was unknown to us as well.” Vasquez smoothly deflects.
“We cannot know if they are falsified without examining them, your honour.”
“Mr. Drake-Wayne recognizes and claims to have prepared them. Perhaps he could validate them for us.” Judge Winter turns to Tim, who cringes. “Mr. Drake-Wayne, if you would be so kind. Take your time.”
Tim nods and pulls the first file towards him. He keeps looking up, at Wayne, then his siblings, then the door Dick left through. He flicks through the pages, seeing exactly what he would expect.
“That’s real,” He breathes, stunned, when he returns it to the railing in front of him. He grabs the second, leafing through it faster. Each one is real, though Peter, the judge, and the prosecutors are all unaware of their contents.
Tim confirms the last one is real, and looks directly at Wayne with panic in his eyes for a brief second before he smooths it over. Wayne again leans to his lead counsel. Even he has no idea what’s going on.
“Thank you, Timothy. To reiterate, you prepared these files with the help of others?” Vasquez asks with a small self-satisfied smirk.
“Yes.”
“Who helped you?”
“Dick and Jason,” Tim answers, shooting an apologetic look at Wayne. “The others too, to a lesser extent.”
“The others?”
“My other siblings.” Tim clarifies. He seems unsure for the first time since he took the oath.
“No one else?”
“Ye-n-“ Tim huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Bruce helped too.”
“Thank you, Timothy. The files having been verified by a valid party, I move to enter them into evidence as defendant’s ninety-one through ninety-eight.” Vasquez turns to the judge.
“Objection! Your honour, if we could see these files before any ruling,” Ms. Cambites fumes.
“Overruled. Copies will be provided to you at the end of the day, and the files will be entered into evidence as defendant’s ninety-one through ninety-eight.” Judge Winter rules.
“I move to publish to the jury.” Vasquez continues by rote.
“Objection!”
“Overruled, Ms. Cambites. Miss. Vasquez, you may publish to the jury.
“Thank you, your honour.” Vasquez scoops up the folders and places them on the table in front of Wayne’s lead council. “Now, we’ll go through these files nice and slow. Can you tell me what this is?”
She puts the second-largest file under the data projector and flips it open to the first page. It’s a diagram coroners use to mark injuries and points of interest on dead bodies. The outlines of the front and back of a generic person are covered in marks with almost no blank paper left visible. Each mark is neatly labeled with a number.
It’s at this moment that Dick returns quietly. Unfortunately for him, the courtroom is waiting for Tim’s answer with bated breath, and every head swivels to him, including Tim. Tim looks desperate for an out. Dick shakes his head slightly and sits back down. Attention returns to Tim.
“That’s, uh,” He clears his throat. “That’s a diagram of all of Dick’s injuries.”
Peter knew his friend had been hurt badly, but this level of scarring is a lot more than any abuse case he’s ever heard of.
“And the numbers?”
“Reference where in the file more detail can be found. Tim answers quietly.
“Wonderful. Let us start at the beginning.” Vasquez turns the page, revealing a page of text Peter can’t quite make out with an attached image of Dick’s shoulder, neck, and jaw. Half of his face is visible, the corner of his mouth down-turned. There are…a lot of scars. Each is circled and labeled with a number.
“Who took this picture?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“For ease of reference.” Tim glowers.
“And would you please read the notes on this page?” Vasquez commands.
Tim glares at her, then sweeps his gaze to his older brothers and Wayne. He doesn’t see what he wants to, but he turns his attention to the screen in front of him and starts to read.
“One.” A long slice along Dick’s collarbone. “Deathstroke. Report 05-point-01-point-01. Katana. Explanation: broke rule 13, Bruce punished with kitchen knife.”
“I’ll stop you there. For those of us who were never supposed to see this, would you please explain what that all means?” Vasquez asks with a too-sweet smile. Dick shifts in his seat. Peter supposes seeing this picture projected in court must be unimaginably violating.
“It means,” Tim seethes a little. “That Deathstroke attacked Dick, gave him that scar, and that’s the explanation we came up with so people wouldn’t ask why Deathstroke is randomly obsessed with him.”
“So this injury was not caused by Bruce Wayne, but you and your siblings decided to lie and say it was?” Vasquez is the cat that got the cream hand-delivered on a silver platter to her sunbeam.
“Objection, speculation!” Ms. Cambites stands abruptly.
“Overruled. Mr. Drake-Wayne, please answer.” Judge Winter orders.
Tim chews his cheek, clearly unhappy. “Yes.”
“Thank you. Please continue.
After a moment to compose himself, Tim does. The scar labeled with the number two looks like a bullet wound. “Two. Red Hood. Report 10-point-04-point-27. Bullet, through and through. Explanation: disrespectful, Bruce punished with room-temperature fire poker.”
And it continues like that. Page after page, Tim read what really caused the scars and the lies they constructed around them. Bruce Wayne is blamed, directly or indirectly, for most of them. The rest are explained as the stupid accidents of careless rich kids. None of them are.
“Eighty-three,” Tim says, then he pauses.
He’s been barreling on for the last fifty, stopping only when Vasquez asked him to explain the use of some terminology to the court, or what the name of the weapon used means. Turns out that ‘electrified escrima sticks’ are what Nightwing uses, which pulls up the horrifying image of Nightwing hurting Dick. Beating him for no reason.
“Eighty-three,” Tim says again, forcing his words through his teeth. “Talia Al-Ghul. Torture as related to eighty-five through ninety-two, and one-oh-four through one-thirty. Report sealed. Explanation: snowboarded into a tree. Applies also to eighty-six through eighty-eight, one-seventeen, and one-twenty through one-twenty-nine.”
“Torture?” Vasquez prompts.
“The action or practice of inflicting severe pain or suffering on someone as a punishment or in order to force them to do or say something according to Oxford Languages.” Tim defines.
“I’m aware of the definition of torture. In this context, what does it mean?”
“What? That Dick got tortured by Talia Al-Ghul, what else?” Tim looks confused and truthful. Truthful. About Dick getting tortured.
“Who is this Talia Al-Ghul?”
“Objection!” Ms. Cambites sounds strained from trying to keep up. “Relevance?”
“Completion, your honour.”
“Objection granted. Move on, Miss. Vasquez.”
And it continues. When they finish Dick’s folder, it's almost six in the afternoon, and Tim has been reading for three and a half hours straight. Judge Winter ends the day, reminds Tim not to discuss his testimony, and instructs Vasquez to ensure a copy of the files is provided to the prosecution.
Wayne’s lawyers look smug because they’ve just won this case. They’re going to make Tim read every line, disprove every lie their client’s children have told, and get their client off scott free.
Peter immediately moves to Dick and his siblings.
“Dick, tell me you didn’t perjure yourself to get Wayne locked up.” He pleads.
Dick smiles distractedly. “I don’t think you want me to, Peter.”
“Dick!” But he’s already moving to the defendant’s table. Everyone, including the cameras, watch.
Watch as he pats Tim’s shoulder as he passes, whispers something in his ear, and pushes him gently into Jason’s open arms. Watch as Dick calls Wayne’s name, and talks to him. Civilly. Like he hasn’t just been exposed of falsely accusing the man of horrible abuse.
“What the hell is going on,” Peter states.
Wayne shakes his head, and Dick leans forward. Wayne says something, Dick nods, and returns to his family.
“Care to explain?” Peter asks.
“Family business, Peter. You understand.” Dick brushes him aside with apologetic eyes and a conman’s smile. He guides his siblings out of the courtroom towards the garage exit the press can’t get to.
“Guess all we can do is wait until tomorrow.” El sighs.
***
The next day, the court is packed. Diana and Jones have been in town to support Dick, but haven’t been coming every day like Peter and El. They come today.
Dick finds them and pulls them to the family row, which has moved. They had been sitting further back, behind the prosecution, but today they sit behind the defendant’s table, in the first row not occupied by Wayne’s team of lawyers.
Yesterday changed something.
Vasquez calls Tim back up to the stand and has him start reading the thickest file. It turns out to be Jason’s. After detailing Jason’s numerous injuries, a lot of them inflicted by the Joker and the Talia that had tortured Dick, the Judge breaks for a slightly early lunch.
Afterward, Tim reads his own file, face blank and near dissociating. Then he reads Steph’s and Cass’ and Duke’s and Damian’s. They’re all a lot thinner than the two eldest Waynes.
As far as Peter can tell, nothing has changed except that Tim has recovered from the shock of the files being sprung on him. Whatever Dick and Wayne talked about, and there has been a lot of speculation online, the only visible change is where the family is sitting.
“Thank you for reading all of that, Timothy,” Vasquez says, closing Damian’s file. “So this is the truth? Not what you and your siblings have been telling the press and the court for the last year?”
Tim sighs. “Yes ma’am.”
“Tell me, why did you feel the need to accuse your father of such horrific abuse?” She asks disapprovingly.
“He offered.”
“Excuse me?”
“To protect us. He offered.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to spell that out for me. How does allowing you to drag Mr. Wayne through the mud protect you?”
Tim pauses, looking at Wayne. Peter recognizes, for the first time in the entire trial, that Wayne’s kids haven’t been looking at him in fear. They’ve been looking to him for support.
“We’re vigilantes,” Tim answers Vasquez, not looking away from the steady rock of his father. “And we didn’t want the public to find out. Batman’s gonna be pissed.” He tries to joke, finally looking back to Vasquez. It falls flat when just this morning Tim read out that Batman had slit Jason’s throat.
“All of you are vigilantes?” Vasquez asks, clearly just as in the dark as the rest of them. This is new territory, which rarely happens in court cases that have devoted the number of hours to depositions as they have.
“Yeah. Well, not Bruce. But us kids, yeah. Some police officers were getting close to figuring us out, and Bruce thought the only way to keep us from being found out was if they thought our injuries from our, ah, night-time activities came from him.” Tim explains nervously.
“So. Mr. Wayne knew you, his children, were vigilantes working for Batman, and offered his protection?”
Tim nods.
“Then you won’t have any trouble telling us the vigilante identities of you and your siblings,” Vasquez states.
Ms. Cambites should object because it's not a question, but she’s as enthralled as everyone else. And has been lied to and tricked into bringing a false case against Wayne. She’s probably more than a little angry and distracted.
Peter sneaks a glance at Dick. He doesn’t look surprised.
“I-I’m Red Robin,” Tim answers.
Vasquez gestures for him to continue. He does, haltingly.
“Steph is…Spoiler. Duke is Signal. Damian, Damian’s Robin. Um…so please do remember that the Red Hood was cleared by the Justice League due to magically-induced insanity? Jason’s the Red Hood. Dick’s Nightwing.” Tim cringes, shoulders almost hitched to his ears.
“And Batman?” Vasquez asks.
“He’s…he’s not…technically alive? I think. Or human?” Tim furrows his brow. “Sorry, it’s weird. Our working theory is that he’s some kind of justice or vengeance demon that’s attached himself to Gotham. We’re not super sure, and he’s not one for, uh. Talking.”
“I…okay.” Vasquez stumbles. She rights herself, pulls out of the vigilante’s story, and back into defending her client. “Did Bruce Wayne ever abuse you and your siblings?”
“No.”
“Did you and your siblings decide to perjure yourselves in court to protect your vigilante identities?”
“Yes.” Tim winces.
“Thank you, Timothy. No further questions, your honour.”
“Thank you, Miss. Vasquez. Ms. Cambites?” Judge Winter intones with the cadence of many repetitions.
“I have many questions, your honour, but none relevant to this trial.”
“Very well, then. You may return to your family, Mr. Drake-Wayne.” Judge Winter waits until Tim slides between Dick and Jason. “I will entertain a motion from the defense.”
Wayne’s lead counsel stands. “Your honour, given what we have heard, I move the prosecution do drop all charges against Mr. Wayne.”
“Ms. Cambites?”
“Given the testimony we have heard here today, the state will drop all charges against Mr. Wayne.” She says.
“All charges against Mr. Bruce Wayne are dropped, without prejudice.” Judge Winter bangs her gavel. “Mr. Wayne, your dedication to your children is admirable. Perhaps in the future, your dedication would be best directed towards keeping your underage children safe in your house.”
“I’ve tried that,” Wayne says softly.
“Hmm. Case dismissed, everyone go home.” She stands.
“All rise!” the bailiff calls. Judge Winter leaves. A few bailiffs approach the jury, probably about their next steps, and Wayne turns back to his children.
“Oh thank god,” Jason sighs.
Damian runs down the aisle, leaps over the railing dividing the courtroom, and launches himself into his father’s arms. The way Wayne hugs him feels horribly intrusive to watch. The rest of the Waynes move forward at a more sedate pace, though that’s not hard given the speed Damian worked up.
“Do you think we’ll be arrested for perjury?” Tim asks Dick.
“I hope not. Of all the things they could arrest us for, that would be the most embarrassing.”
***
They aren’t arrested for perjury. Because they never perjured themselves. Three days after the trial, El, Peter, Diana, and Jones are invited to stay at Wayne Manor. When they wake up the next day, the trial never happened.
When they went to bed, the headlines read; Is Batman Blackmailing Bruce Wayne for his Children?, We Were Right! The Red Hood Is Just As Hot As We Thought He’d Be, and Justice League Has Yet To Comment On Disturbing Relationship Between Main Sponsor Bruce Wayne and Founder Batman. When they woke up, the headlines were much more banal; Dow Jones Down Three Points, Mayor Cobblepot to Speak On Recent Arkham Security Upgrades, and Here’s Whose Dressing the Wayne’s for This Year’s Met Gala.
“Combined magics of Martian Manhunter, Zatanna, and John Constantine.” Bruce Wayne explains.
“Shit got too wild too fast, so the JL pulled the plug on it.” Jason, the Red goddamn Hood, adds.
“They did some concentrated time magics, a little mind sorcery, and boom! Secret’s safe.” Dick adds. “I asked them to keep you out of it though, because I’ve already lied to you too much.”
“Okay,” El takes a bit of her muffin. “But we still know that Batman has a very concerning amount of control over you all.”
“He wishes!” Jason grins.
“Mrs. Burke,” Bruce Wayne says with a smile. “I’m Batman.”