Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Smoke in the Dark

Third Person

The city sprawled beneath Damian, a sprawling tapestry of flickering lights and distant sounds, but up on the rooftop, all that reached his ears was the whisper of the wind. It was a world that felt like a hundred miles away, a world he no longer belonged to. Alone, he leaned against the cool concrete, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, its tip glowing like a tiny ember in the vastness of the night.

He took a drag, the smoke filling his lungs. For a brief moment, he felt a semblance of relief wash over him, but it quickly faded into a haze of regret. Each puff brought back memories he couldn't shake—a cacophony of laughter, arguments, and faces that felt like ghosts haunting him. He closed his eyes, allowing the smoke to swirl around him, blurring the edges of reality. For a moment, he felt free, as if the tendrils of smoke could lift him away from the chaos of his mind.

But freedom was an illusion, and the smoke was a reminder of everything he couldn't escape. It curled around him like the weight of his mistakes. He remembered the fights, the harsh words that had cut deeper than any blade. The lingering resentment between him and his father, the conversations that turned into shouting matches, the disappointment in his father's eyes that felt like a knife in his heart. His family, once a source of strength, now felt like a distant memory. The thought made his heart ache—a longing for connection that felt just out of reach.

He drew another drag, feeling the burn in his throat, and it was almost comforting. It reminded him that he was still alive, still fighting, even if it was just against the pain inside. As the cigarette burned down, he flicked ash into the abyss below. Each falling ember mirrored the pieces of himself he felt slipping away. His mind raced, replaying the moments when he'd chosen isolation over companionship. He had thought he could handle the darkness alone, that he didn't need anyone. But here he was, drowning in the very shadows he had created.

His thoughts drifted to his older brothers, the ones who were always there for him. The last time they had spoken, Damian had brushed them off, too caught up in his own storm to notice the storm brewing in his brother's eyes. Regret washed over him, and he could almost hear his brother's voice pleading for help, for understanding. Had he pushed them away, too? Would they come to find Damian one day, seeking the brother they once loved? The thought twisted in his gut, sharp and painful.

With each inhale, the cigarette brought him clarity and confusion in equal measure. The smoke curled around him, a physical manifestation of his struggles. He felt as if he were trapped in a never-ending cycle of self-doubt and pain, each breath deeper than the last, yet failing to fill the void inside. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the cool night air. It twisted and turned, much like his thoughts. For too long, he had let the weight of his pain silence him, convincing himself that solitude was better than facing the world. But deep down, he knew he couldn't keep running.

As he stood there, the city continued to pulse with life below him, oblivious to his turmoil. He could hear the faint music of a nearby bar, the laughter of people enjoying their lives, and the distant wail of sirens—reminders that the world moved on, with or without him. A part of him longed to join them, to feel that carefree joy, but the shadows of his own making held him firmly in place.

He took one last drag, the bitter taste lingering in his mouth, and a sudden thought struck him: he could choose to extinguish this fire, not just in his cigarette but in his life. With a decisive flick of his wrist, he tossed the cigarette off the edge of the rooftop. It fell, disappearing into the darkness below—a small act of defiance against the grip of his despair.

Opening his eyes, he looked out at the city once more. The lights twinkled like stars, each one a reminder of life continuing on, of stories unfolding beyond his reach. In that moment, something shifted within him. He realized he didn't want to be a ghost in his own life anymore. He didn't want to drown in smoke or in silence.

Suddenly, the weight of his solitude felt unbearable. He thought about his family—the love and support they had always offered him, even when he didn't want it. They were there, ready to lift him up, and he had pushed them away. 

"What if..." he whispered to himself, "What if I could turn back time? What if I could say I was sorry?"

With a deep breath, he turned away from the edge and headed back down the stairs. Each step felt heavier, yet somehow lighter at the same time, as if he was shedding the weight of his regrets with every move. The cool concrete walls seemed to close in on him, echoing his uncertainty, but he pressed on, determined to reclaim a part of himself he thought he had lost forever.

As he reached the ground floor, the noise of the world outside grew louder. The laughter and chatter of passersby seeped into his consciousness, pulling him closer to reality. He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the door handle, heart racing as he considered what lay ahead. Would they accept him back? Would they forgive him?

Steeling himself, he opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the street. The night air was crisp, filled with the sounds of life, and he took a deep breath, inhaling deeply. This was it; he was ready to embrace the chaos and find a way to heal.

But as he stepped into the night, the weight of his past rushed back to him. Each laugh he heard felt like a mockery of his pain, each light a reminder of the happiness he could never reclaim. Instead of warmth, he felt coldness seep into his bones. He could feel the pull of darkness beckoning him back, whispering sweetly that it would be easier to retreat, easier to give in.

His heart raced, not with hope, but with panic. He stumbled back, pressing his back against the door, the laughter outside turning into a cacophony that drowned him. He closed his eyes, the noise filling his head until he felt he might drown in it. His breaths quickened, his chest tightening with a familiar sense of despair.

He had thought he could escape the darkness, but it was still there, lurking in the corners of his mind, waiting for him to falter. In his heart, he knew he wasn't ready to face the world. The shadows whispered, promising a release from the pain, an end to the struggle.

As the laughter outside continued, he could feel the weight of his decision pressing down on him. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe the world didn't need him. He could slip away, like the smoke from his cigarette, fading into nothingness.

With a heavy heart, he turned back, retreating into the darkness of the stairwell. The door closed behind him with a soft click, sealing him in. The city outside continued to live and breathe, but he would remain trapped in the shadows of his own making. As he descended back into the depths of his despair, he knew he had made his choice.

The night closed around him like a shroud, and as he stood alone in the darkness, the smoke from his last cigarette lingered in the air, a testament to the battles he had lost and the hope that had slipped away into the wind with it. 

-10/08/2024