Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Lost at Sea

Third Person

The wind howled through the cracked windows of the small, abandoned lighthouse, a relentless reminder of the storm that raged just outside. The old structure groaned with every gust, as if warning its lone occupant of the unforgiving ocean that stretched endlessly before him. Damian Wayne sat against the cold, rough wall, staring out at the dark horizon. His body ached from the mission gone wrong, but it was nothing compared to the gnawing emptiness that clawed at his mind.

He was alone.

Separated from the Teen Titans, stranded on this godforsaken island, with no rescue in sight. They had been on a mission—a simple reconnaissance job off the coast to investigate some suspicious activity. But as was too often the case, things had gone sideways fast. An unexpected ambush, explosions, and chaos had broken out. In the frenzy of battle, Damian had lost track of his teammates, and in a moment of desperation, he had jumped into the sea to escape a collapsing dock.

Now, hours later, he found himself marooned on this rocky island. No one knew where he was. There was no sign of the others. No communication. No way to know if they were alive or dead. And the darkness of the stormy night had swallowed any hope of finding them.

Damian's fists clenched. He was trained for this. His whole life had been a test of endurance, survival, and battle. His grandfather Ra's al Ghul, his mother Talia, his father Batman—all had molded him into a weapon. He had been prepared for every scenario, every eventuality. So why, now, did he feel so utterly helpless?

The island itself was barren, surrounded by jagged cliffs and sharp rocks that seemed to jut out of the water like the teeth of some ancient beast. The waves crashed violently against the shore, echoing through the air like the growls of that very monster. The lighthouse was the only structure, a relic of a time long past. It provided some shelter, but that was all.

Damian rose to his feet, pacing the small room. He hated this feeling of being trapped. The isolation was suffocating, and his thoughts, usually sharp and focused, had begun to spiral into darker places. He had always prided himself on his control—control over his body, his emotions, his destiny. But now, with nothing to fight, nothing to focus on, the walls of his mind began to close in.

The storm outside was relentless. The rain pounded against the roof of the lighthouse, each drop sounding like a hammer against his skull. The wind howled through the cracks in the walls, bringing with it the salty, wet air of the ocean. Damian tried to focus on his surroundings, to scan for any possible sign of escape, but the sea was merciless. No boats, no rescue. Just endless, churning waves and dark clouds.

"What if they didn't make it?" The thought slipped into his mind, uninvited, but once it was there, it refused to leave. The images of his teammates—Starfire, Beast Boy, Raven, and Tim—all flashed through his mind. The explosion had been massive, the force of it enough to toss him into the ocean like a ragdoll. What if they hadn't been as lucky?

Damian shook his head, trying to push the thought away. "They're fine," he muttered to himself. "They have to be." But the storm outside, the never-ending sound of rain and thunder, only seemed to mock him. He was stranded, alone, and the chances of survival felt slimmer with every passing minute.

He felt a familiar pressure building in his chest—the same suffocating feeling that had crept in when he thought about his past mistakes. It wasn't the first time Damian had been in a life-threatening situation, but out here, with nothing but the storm to keep him company, the weight of his failures felt heavier.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He was Damian Wayne, the son of Batman. Trained by the League of Assassins, raised to be the perfect soldier, the perfect warrior. He wasn't supposed to feel weak. He wasn't supposed to feel scared.