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Damian wasn't a child. Well, technically he was, but he'd been raised by the League of Assassins, he was Robin, he had training beyond his years and he wasn't scared.
He wasn't.
Another pitiful cry to his left indicated that while he was adept at masking his panic, normal children were not… Well, depending on the child, because Gotham's Street kids were pretty fearless, Damian almost respected them sometimes. If Damian had been able to shift back, perhaps he'd have snapped at the child, or maybe he'd have tried to imitate the caring tone Dick managed on victims.
He wasn't sure.
A cry to his other side knocked him from his plans to escape, or his plans to signal down one of his siblings. A lower, more mournful sound as the cub held a paw close to its chest, clearly broken. Damian frowned. For traffickers they were showing no restraint at hurting their 'merchandise.' and that was the worst kind, they were more unpredictable, had nothing much to lose.
The three of them were rather… Snug cage, Damian had been caught on his way home from school, and while he could fight off men as Robin, it was a rather public setting the men had risked taking him from, and exposing his fighting ability could compromise his entire family. So, he'd had to let himself be taken.
They'd already drugged him on the journey over, a substantial dose that would halt him shifting back for at least a couple of days minimum. They'd looked rather gleeful when he'd been forced into his slowly growing caracal form, apparently predators were more sought out or something, he'd listened into their chatter with his advanced hearing. They sold the kids with forms of less worth pretty quick, but he was one of their more… Valuable catches. It did appear, however, that none of the men (and few women) running the ring knew who he was, they'd just seen a rich kid, not Damian Wayne.
So here he was, in a cage with a couple of other kids, a rather striking polar bear cub, an uncommon sight in Gotham, and the other, with the broken paw, a lion cub.
Both the kids had been doing these pitiful mewing cries on and off for a couple of hours, trying to keep quiet but clearly terrified, shaking frames and trembling paws.
Damian wondered what particularly was taking his siblings so long, but he did have a tendency to not go straight home after school, Damian liked to sneak off sometimes, they were used to that by now, rather than being helicopter parents/siblings.
"Shut up." One of the men hissed when the lion let out another weak cry. Damian fought down a snarl, tried to stay quiet and still so they'd forget about him, underestimate him, allow him to keep planning silently.
There were other cages, five in total, stacked across the room, with the (mostly kids) arranged roughly in terms of value, as far as Damian could make out. There was one slightly bigger shifter, a dog, perhaps a husky, Damian couldn't get a clear look, but the dog looked to perhaps be a teenager. Beyond that, the other three cages were full of cubs, pups and kits. Children.
God, Damian really hoped Todd didn't get wind of him being here, it was bad enough that Dick and Bruce were helicopter parents, Todd was utterly insufferable about Damian's safety.
There were three rodents in one of the cages, being used as a footstool for two men who had their feet up on it, and when they were feeling particularly sadistic, one would kick the side of the cage and result in three muffled squeaks of fear.
One was a sugar glider joey and that made Damian angry. It made him think too much of Dick. Of how much he knew Dick hated being grounded, how the child must feel the same. There was also a ferret and a chinchilla, all huddling together, maybe from fear or maybe they knew each other?
The other two cages were stacked up in a corner, not of interest perhaps, one housed four squashed animals, who clearly didn't have enough space, two horse calves, a small lamb who was clearly malnourished, and a whimpering warthog. The horses struggled, unable to stand up in the cramped cell and giving the tiniest of brays and chuffs, tails flicking in distress. Damian had made eye contact with the last cage only once, the kid in it, a Fox pup, was the only one in the cage. That seemed a little unfair except for the fact the kid seemed feral.
It did happen, sometimes, if one spent way too long in a shift, they could slowly lose themselves to their animal. Only if they weren't mentally strong enough, of course, if they succumbed to the ease of being an animal. Damian was impressed Todd had managed to keep his sanity after so long as a skunk. He never verbalised this though.
But the Fox across from him, he had eyes that showed no recognition of the situation, that glared at anything and anyone as a threat, teeth bared and growling. The men had muzzled the kid.
A muzzle. On a child.
Damian wanted to avoid that if possible. It was demeaning enough to be kept in the cell, at least his companions were mostly… Respectful, about giving him space. The Lion had looked at him a couple of times, pleading eyes but Damian had given him the smallest of shaken heads.
The hours dripped by, slowly, Damian only kept track of the time by one of the high rise windows and the change of light from outside, as it bled into the night.
There was one singular woman amongst the men, who was animatedly chatting on a phone. Damian couldn't pick out every word but she was staring at their cage the entire time.
They'd been sold. Clearly.
Damian supposed it was a quick turnover time they ran on, keeping kids in one place long term was a good way to get caught, so selling on fast covered their backs. Damian huffed, his chin resting on his front paws. It seemed his siblings and father wouldn't find him yet. That wasn't… great but Damian, other than being hungry and cold, hadn't been particularly badly treated, he hadn't been muzzled like the Fox child, nor had his cage constantly hit like the rodents, and his paw wasn't broken like the Lion… He wasn't allowed to complain when there were people worse off than him, right?
Damian didn't sleep, the first night he laid awake, as the rest of the kids quietened down, lulled into sleep despite their situation. Only the Lion and the Fox stayed up. The Fox continued to scratch his front paws at the muzzle, trying to get the item off. One of the men threw a beer bottle at the kid and earned a snarl in return.
The Lion, though, had made the arduous journey of limping to Damian's side, despite the paw that looked quite painful, curling up beside the Caracal. Damian hadn't pushed the kid away, had let the cub stay close to his side, eyes never sliding shut despite the clear exhaustion in his body, watching on as Damian assessed, watched the change in guards, watched and watched and watched. The Lion was slightly bigger than him but Damian was pretty certain they were at similar growth development so they were surely similar ages.
The next morning, he was sold. He hadn't been rescued and he had been sold to an asshole.
The lion and the husky were the only two who were sold alongside him.
Damian decided to call the Husky Hugh until one of the men had called her a girl. Damian hadn't known that, but apparently the husky was a female. So he quickly renamed her Hailey. The Lion he was ridiculously creative with and called Leon. Leon refused to leave his side, staying curled up beside him and giving adorable little whine-y roars when anyone came close.
It didn’t last.
Once Damian was… relocated and injected with a fresh dose of shifter suppressants despite his struggle, he'd been separated from the other two. The man who'd bought them seemed to have little interest in Leon or Hailey, Damian was his prize. He'd cooed and ogled the Caracal, Damian fighting off the urge to squirm under his appreciation. Apparently his form wasn’t common in Gotham and the man wanted him to be his pet. Not a fighter, not trained to attack and defend. No. The man wanted him to be a house cat. An exotic pet.
Damian had hissed and clawed and bit as much as he could when the man… Henchmen? Bodyguards? Had tried to collar him.
He wasn’t a simple animal to be kept. He was human. He spat and clawed angrily at them.
“Now, now, Count Flufferton, that’s not how we act. I suppose we’ll have to schedule some training.” The asshole, Reginald (one of the men had called him that,) tutted. As if the name wasn’t humiliating enough, the man had got it burned onto his collar because Damian had ended up with the collar on, a muzzle which his jaw ached over and he struggled to breathe. It was warm. Too warm. The constant pressure on his face hurt.
The training wasn’t training, it was just his ribs behind broken when Reginald had one of his men kick Damian until he followed commands. He was being treated like a dog not a cat.
“Sit, Count Flufferton!” The man barked out and would kick every time Damian refused. He wasn’t going to listen. He wasn’t an animal. He snarled and hissed the best he could with the muzzle, restrained on a lead and kept close to Reginald's feet. To make it worse, his paws had been forced into the most uncomfortable plastic boots, strapped in tight so he couldn't claw his way out of anything. He hated it. He wondered if Leon and Hailey were doing okay. He wondered if the Lion had been treated for his broke paw yet.
Day three with the man, and after being kicked until he ached all over, refused any form of food and his only water intake when he’d been dumped in a bath, for ‘training’ and Damian was afraid to say he was losing hope. Where was his family? Were they not coming for him? Was he disposable?
“Thank you, Mr Hood. It’s a pleasure doing business with you once more.” Reginald spoke, voice so fake and nasally. Damian looked up though, from where he’d been laid, feeling weak and exhausted. He’d refused to sleep, was unsure what they’d do to him if he did. Red Hood was before him, shaking the man's hand.
“No, the pleasure is all mine, Mr Gabb.” Red Hood replied, before his eyes met Damian’s, saw the Caracal cub curled up, weak and battered and clearly suffering from hunger and dehydration. Reginald caught where the helmet's gaze had turned.
“Ah, I see you have good taste, this is Count Flufferton. I bought him a couple of days ago. He’s such a beautiful specimen. Alas, he’s a feral little fellow currently, he needs a bit more domesticating before I can start taking him places with me.” Reginald boasted. “A Caracal is a rare form nowadays, I simply had to snatch him up.” He continued and Damian could only stare back at Jason, could see clearly where the Pit was coursing through him, the tremble of his arms, the fists clenched behind his back. Damian lifted one plastic-encased paw and began to softly tap on the ground.
T-O-D-D.
At first Jason didn’t appear to hear the Morse Code even though he was staring straight at Damian. He looked confused, angry, unsure and then Reginald was dead.
“Fucking bastard.” Jason snarled, having gone from restrained anger to his gun smoking and a bullet wound in Reginald's stomach. The man howled and dropped. The two bodyguards on the door leapt to his aid but Jason shot them down with ease. There was no one else who came running in so Jason relaxed a little and looked down at Reginald who howled and held his wound. Jason made a point of raising his foot and slamming it down into the bleeding hole. Reginald screamed and screamed as Jason lowered his foot, more and more force until the asshole passed out. When he did, Jason tutted and shot the man in the head.
Then he turned to Damian.
Damian managed to weakly lift a paw, able to place it softly on top of Jason’s boot when he was close enough. The helmet was off instantly.
“Fuck, Dami?” Jason asked, voice hoarse. Damian nodded.
“That fucking bastard. I- Are you- Are you okay?” Jason asked, scooping Damian into his arms. Damian didn’t answer, kept still and tense as the flaring pain in his side spiked, the broken ribs and the bruises and the pure humiliation hurt.
Jason fiddled with the boots until they were off and launched behind him in disgust, the muzzle went next and then the collar with a simple knife cut. Damian squirmed and nestled up into the crook of Jason’s neck, letting out weak little purrs. He was exhausted. He was safe.
“Fucking- Where the fuck is Bruce.” Jason huffed and Damian patted his paw gently against Jason. O-T-H-E-R-S.
“There’s other kids?”
Damian nodded against Jason’s shoulder.
“Okay. Shit. Are you stuck?”
Another nod.
“Okay… Okay.. Uh. Lemme- Lemme call in a favour. I’ve got you, Kit.” Jason cooed and Damian felt himself drift. It would be okay, Jason had him.
He’d find the others. He’d keep him safe now.