Chapter Text
The night sky tore past him, Gotham’s skyline a blur as he moved with ruthless efficiency across the rooftops, rain slicing through the air like needles against his skin. His breaths came harsh and laboured, every muscle strung tight beneath his suit, as though his body could feel what his mind refused to name. He needed to move faster, his body couldn't get tired now. For----
Seventeen hours.
Winters had been gone for seventeen hours.
Timothy was in space with his team, Richard having tagged along and Damian had wanted to take that time to get some of his projects finally off the ground. But Pennyworth had thought it better if he stayed in the Manor to keep an eye, once more on the nuisance that was Warren Winters and once again, he'd failed. A simple task and he came back with a failing grade. Of course he had not been the only person responsible for the child. Pennyworth as well as father were devasted to find the kid missing under their care. But Timothy had looked at him, thanked him for the last time he'd watched Winters and now-----
He wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t. He wouldn't.
But the thought pulsed behind his teeth like acid.
Every second ticked by like a countdown to failure. His failure.
He could still hear the echo of Jason’s voice crackling through the comm just an hour ago;
''Found it. Call came from an unregistered number. Traced it back; some kinda signal hack, frequency piggybacked through cell towers. Real vintage tech. Classic Hatter. The kid picked up… and that’s when it happened.''
He hadn't wanted to believe it. That this could happen to a member of their household but----
''…His eyes glazed over, Demon,'' Jason's voice had sounded troubled. ''Surveillance shows him just walking out the damn front door. Like sleepwalking.''
Damian’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He hadn’t even noticed. And the footage, the damned footage----they’d pulled it up on one of Father’s secure monitors. Winters in the hallway, phone clutched tight, blinking slowly as his feet shuffled forward like a puppet on strings.
Not even the front door’s alarms had been triggered.
Seventeen hours.
That blasted phone had been Richard’s idea. Gifting the boy a phone. A way to feel connected he'd said. To feel normal after everything he'd been through. Even when Father had voiced his objections---"he doesn’t need the distraction,'' Richard had argued that isolation was more dangerous than any screen.
Damian had scoffed at the time. He remembered that.
Now, all he could think about was ripping the damned device in two.
His grapple line retracted with a click, and he landed hard on the roof of an old storefront 'Tucker’s Toy Chest,' the cracked sign read. Long-abandoned, shuttered after its owner died ten years ago. But it had been active on the grid recently. Heat spikes. Electrical flickers. Unusual drone activity Jason had flagged. He'd sent him the location and told him he'd be there as soon as he'd cleared the other two locations near him. Damian had muttered a gruff thanks under his breath and hung up.
Maybe a part of him, a small part wished Jason was here. Just in case Winters----
Damian moved quickly, leaving the harrowing thoughts behind on the wet rooftop.
The stained glass window shattered inward with a sharp crash as his boots hit the floor, shards raining down like starlight. The interior was pitch black, but his lenses adjusted with a blink, scanning the room from side to side.
Shelves lined with dust-covered dolls was the first thing his mind noted, mannequins slumped in corners like corpses mid-play. The air smelled like mildew and rust.
A chill that felt unnatural crawled along his spine.
And then he saw them.
Seven.
Seven small figures huddled together in a corner of the store, pressed against the wall beneath a decaying carousel horse, unmoving. Like discarded toys.
No, no no no.
Damian was at their side in a heartbeat, his cape snapping behind him.
His stomach twisted.
Fuck, it was Winters. Curled in on himself, tucked at the centre of the group. Head slumped forward, arms wrapped around his chest. There was Winters.
Too still.
Damian dropped to his knees, hands moving automatically. Two fingers pressed to the side of the boy’s neck----there. A pulse. Slow, sluggish. He sighed in relief. He wasn't dead, he wasn't dead, he wasn't dead.
''Winters,'' he barked, voice low and sharp. No response. ''Winters, damn it answer me.''
Nothing.
He swore under his breath, turning to the other children; none of them stirred, eyelids fluttering but unfocused. Drugged. Maybe deeper. Their skin cold to the touch, their clothes damp from condensation. The store had no heating. And the rain hadn't stopped.
Fuck, why did this always happen when Richard was off planet. He could really have used his calm under control presence right now.
'No,' shaking his head he clicked his tongue at himself in disgust. What was he thinking. He didn't need Richard. This was something he very well could handle on his own until backup arrived.
So with that resolute thought firmly lodged in his brain, Damian reached for his belt and slammed the distress beacon, setting off the silent alert. Father, Jason; whoever was closest would be on him in minutes.
Focusing back on Winters, he hissed ''Wake up,'' gripping the kid by the shoulders and shaking gently. ''Wake up, now.''
For a terrifying moment, there was still nothing.
Then, finally---- a weak tremor.
The boy's fingers twitched.
''…nnn… D’mi’n…''
The name was half a breath, half a sob. It made Damian want to scream, rip his hair out, run away. Then Winters moved….slowly, clumsily; arms snaking forward, latching onto his arm with such strength it startled him.
The kid's entire body was shaking.
''I—it wasn’t m-my fault,'' Winters choked out, barely audible. ''I didn’t mean to… I couldn’t stop… it w-was in my head I----''
Something in Damian's stomach flipped at that and he frowned, leaning closer. ''What was in your head? Winters, focus---''
But the boy’s voice was a mumble of static, lips moving, but no real words reaching him.
Damian exhaled sharply and tore off one of his earmuffs to hear better, leaning in just enough to catch the next trembling whisper.
''…he sang…''
Damian froze, reaching back for the earmuffs Barbara had designed that he'd so stupidly taken off during a moment of weakness. And then he heard it.
A soft melody. Faint. Barely audible. Like a lullaby from an old music box.
''Go to sleep, my little star…''
His blood ran cold.
''No,'' he breathed, hand flying back to his belt to send a warning while the other tried in vain to get a good grip on the earmuff. But it was too late.
Too late.
The voice grew stronger, dripping from the air like honeyed poison. His hand finally got a grip on the damn thing only for it to slip from his grip, clattering uselessly to the ground.
''…the night is long, but not too far…''
His vision tilted.
The carousel creaked.
Damian’s elbows hit the floor.
''Shit----'' he growled, but the world was already swimming, his limbs going heavy, like his body no longer belonged to him. He felt Winters clinging to him still, voice warbling through tears and fear.
But he couldn’t make out the words anymore.
Couldn’t move.
Couldn’t stop it.
''…follow the tune and drift away…''
And then……darkness.