Chapter Text
Ms. Rivas opened her folder, glancing at the younger boy with a thoughtful smile. “Is it alright if I ask you about your shark?”
“What about him?” He asked, looking down at the plush toy held in his lap.
“Well, I was wondering if he has a name.”
Damian hesitated, fingers brushing against the shark.
“Tim.” He said, voice quiet and sure.
She raised an eyebrow. “Tim?”
He nodded, looking back up at her with a confident look.
“You named him after your guardian?’ She raised a brow. “Is it confusing to have a plushie and brother named Tim?”
Confusion flooded his face before he shook his head. “They’re different, though. The shark is Tim and mama is mama.”
Ms. Rivas’s expression didn’t change, not really, but there was a gentle kind of understanding that could be seen in her eyes. It settled something in him, a soft assurance and validation he had sought for so long.
“Mama saved me. He’s mama, so my shark’s name is Tim.” He said it simply, as a fact, because it was for him. “Don’t you think so?”
“That’s a good name then,” she agreed.
Damian looked back down at the shark, cradling it closer. “He keeps me safe when Mama isn’t holding me.”
Tim felt his throat tighten, choked by the soft admittance from the boy who had become his child in just a matter of days. It was both sweet and painful, a bittersweet blend of gratitude for his trust and self-hatred for not having seen it sooner. Unable to push it away, he looked away for a second, grasping to keep his composure from slipping too far. This was for Damian, not him- he couldn’t fall apart.
She gave a tiny nod and jotted something into her file. “Sharks are very loyal and brave.
The younger tilted his head to the side, brow furrowed at the turn of events.
She met his gaze evenly. “Just like you, I think.”
He blinked, surprised.
“I’m going to ask some questions now, okay?” She asked. “Just so I can better understand what you’ve been through. You don’t have to answer all of them.”
“Fine.” He said shortly, pulling the stuffed shark closer to him.
“Do you feel safe in your current home.”
The younger boy glanced at Tim. “I feel safe here, with mama. Mamas my home.”
She nodded slowly before asking, “do you ever feel scared at night?”
“No.” Damian bristled, before softening slightly. “Only before.”
“Before when?”
“When it was dark. And I was alone.” He glanced down, thumb rubbing along the shark’s stitching, voice turning hollow. “Sometimes he left me there.”
She didn’t ask who ‘he’ was. There was no need to, not when Bruce Wayne had been the reason for this meeting and the cause of this trauma.
Instead, Ms. Rivas asked, “do you have nightmares?”
He hesitated before looking at Tim, then back at the shark.
“Yes. I don’t always remember them. I don’t want to remember them,” he confessed. “But I usually just wake up scared.”
Ms. Rivas nodded again, her voice soft. “It’s very normal to feel scared after something bad has happened. Waking up like that- feeling afraid, even when you know you’re somewhere same- it’s your body remembering, not your fault.”
Damian didn’t answer, but his lips pressed in a tight line, and he blinked a few times too fast.
She didn’t push. Instead, she asked carefully, “When you wake up scared, what helps you feel safe again?”
There was a pause, then Damian mumbled, “I don’t sleep alone. Not usually.”
“Where do you sleep?” She asked, expression remaining gentle.
“With mama,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer. “I always feel safe in mama’s bed.”
Tim’s throat tightened.
“98% of the time,” he added after a beat, serious and specific. “That’s how often. I only sleep on my own when mama’s still awake and I fall asleep waiting for him.”
Ms. Rivas gave a small, understanding nod. “That sounds like a very safe routine. You’re allowed to need comfort at night. A lot of kids do.”
Damian paused, taking in the words with quiet care. Then he glanced at Tim, who gave a small, encouraging smile.
“Do you feel like mama listens to you?” She asked, tone casual, as though the answer wouldn’t make or break everything.
He tilted his head in confusion. “Of course he listens. Why wouldn’t he?”
“Some grownups don’t,” she replied gently. “Some say they will but don’t.”
Damian frowned at that, defensive on instinct. “Mama always listens. He doesn’t even get mad when I cry.”
Tim shifted in his seat a little, trying not to look like he was holding his breath.
“He just asks what’s wrong and then just-” he paused, searching for the words. “He sits with me. Doesn’t tell me to stop. Just stays until it’s better.”
“And that helps?” Ms. Rivas asked, pen still.
He nodded fiercely. “More than anything.”
She didn’t write that down, instead giving him a soft smile, one that didn’t feel fake this time.
“I can see that,” Ms. Rivas said. “It’s very brave to tell me all this.”
“I’m not brave.” His voice was small now. “I’m scared.”
Tim made a quiet sound, barely audible, but he didn’t move. Not yet. Not unless Damian asked.
Ms. Rivas tilted her head. “Can I tell you something kind of important?”
He blinked at her.
“Being scared and talking anywy- that is brave.”
That made something flicker in his eyes. Cheeks flushed, he ducked his head, looking down at Tim-the-shark again, mumbling, “Mama says stuff like that.”
She smiled at them softly, taking in the tender look in Tim’s eyes, the one that screamed of love and unconditional acceptance. “Your mama sounds very wise.”
Damian didn’t respond, but the barest, tiniest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before disappearing as if it had never been there to begin with.
The interview continued quietly, gently. Ms. Rivas asked more questions—not just about Bruce or the nightmares, but about food, school, his drawings, the songs Tim hummed when he cooked breakfast. She didn’t treat him like glass, but she didn’t press too hard either. And slowly, inch by inch, Damian began to relax.
Until finally, Ms. Rivas closed the folder and said, “Thank you for trusting me.”
She stood slowly, gathering her things. “I’m going to write up a recommendation that says you’re safest here with Tim. I want you to know that.”
Damian’s head snapped up. “So you’re not taking me away?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m not. And I’ll fight anyone who tries.”
That startled him.
“Even him?”
“If Bruce Wayne tries to take you back against your will,” Ms. Rivas said, standing tall now, voice stronger than it had been the entire time, “he’ll have to go through me. And the court. And Tim. And probably several very angry social workers.”
Damian’s eyes widened, shocked by the protectiveness in her tone. Slowly, he turned to look at Tim again, who gave him a small, watery smile, eyes shining.
“I told you,” Tim said, voice thick. “I’m not letting you go.”
Damian was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, he crawled across the couch, shark in hand, and tucked himself into Tim’s side. Small and shaking, but safe.
Tim didn’t speak. He just wrapped an arm around him, holding him close.
Ms. Rivas watched for a moment, then quietly stepped toward the door.
“I’ll be in touch,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Neither boy answered, but she didn’t need them to.
The door clicked softly behind her.
And Damian, face hidden against Tim’s shirt, whispered, “Mama?”
“Yeah, baby,” Tim murmured, hand running down his back.
“Can we keep her?”
Tim blinked, then let out a soft, choked laugh.
“If I could, sweetheart,” he said, voice cracking, “I’d keep anyone who keeps you safe.”
Damian only nodded.
And held on tighter.