Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Chasing Ghosts

Damian Wayne stood atop Wayne Tower, surveying the sprawling metropolis of Gotham City beneath him. The wind howled through his hair, chilling him to the bone, but he hardly noticed. Instead, he was consumed by a much deeper cold—one that settled into the marrow of his bones, wrapping around him like a shadow. It had been months since his mother, Talia al Ghul, had died, and the gaping hole she left behind felt impossible to fill.

Since her death, the world around him had shifted. Gotham, once a place of adventure and excitement, now seemed bleak and suffocating. Damian had always been the fierce one, raised to be a warrior, but he felt like a ghost wandering through a realm of the living. The weight of his emotions bore down on him, and he often wondered if he would ever find solace.

Standing on the edge of the tower, he could see the lights of the city twinkling like stars in a dark void. But tonight, the lights didn't comfort him. They felt more like a cruel reminder of how disconnected he had become from the world. He had once reveled in the chaos of Gotham, finding purpose in the shadows, but now the city felt foreign, a place where he no longer belonged.

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, feeling the weight of his emotions like a heavy anchor pulling him down. Inside, he was drowning, suffocated by an ocean of despair that surged higher with each passing day. No matter how hard he fought to swim to the surface, the waves kept crashing over him, dragging him deeper into darkness.

With the death of Talia, Damian felt as though he had lost a part of himself. His mother had been a complicated figure, a blend of love and pain. They had shared a unique bond, one built on a mixture of admiration and fear. Her absence created a void in his heart that nothing could replace.

The memories of her were both comforting and tormenting. He could still picture her smile, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief and ambition. But along with those memories came the darker ones—the fights, the manipulations, and the pressure to be perfect. She had expected so much from him, and now he felt lost without her guidance.

As the sun sank below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of purple and pink, Damian leaned against the cool metal of the railing. He closed his eyes, trying to push away the darkness that threatened to consume him. But just as he thought he might find some peace, he heard a voice behind him.

"Damian!" The voice called out, breaking through the fog of his thoughts. It was Tim Drake, his friend and ally. "We've been looking for you! Are you okay?"

Damian turned to face Tim, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "I'm fine," he lied. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he had grown accustomed to masking his feelings. He didn't want Tim to see the chaos inside him.

Tim, with his concerned expression, stepped closer. "You don't look fine. You've been really distant lately. Is there something you want to talk about?"

The question hung in the air like a dark cloud. Damian felt the familiar walls he had built around himself closing in. He had no intention of letting anyone in, especially not Tim. He appreciated his friend's concern, but he didn't want to burden him with his troubles. "I told you, I'm just tired," he replied, trying to sound casual.

Tim frowned, but he didn't press further. "Alright, but just know that I'm here if you need anything." There was a hint of disappointment in his voice, but Damian couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't want to feel anything, least of all the sympathy of others.

As they made their way down from the rooftop, the weight of Damian's sadness settled in his chest again. The familiar sounds of the Batcave greeted them as they descended into the dimly lit space, the hum of computers and the scent of old books mixing with the cool air. Yet, even in this space, he felt isolated.