Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Blame

Third Person

The night air felt heavy as Damian Wayne stood on a rooftop overlooking Gotham City, the dim lights flickering below him like distant stars. The sounds of sirens and honking cars filled the air, but tonight, they seemed muted, as if the world around him was on pause. A chill ran down his spine, not from the cold, but from the weight of guilt pressing down on him like a lead blanket.

Earlier that evening, a mission with the Teen Titans had gone horribly wrong. They had been tasked with taking down a drug operation that was spreading through the city, but in the chaos of the fight, one of his teammates—an eager and bright hero named Aqualad—had lost his life. Damian still felt the echoes of the gunshots in his ears, still remembered the frantic shouting as everything spiraled out of control.

It was supposed to be a straightforward mission, just like any other. But in the heat of battle, things had taken a turn. They had planned to go in quietly, to catch the criminals off guard. But when they arrived, the gang had been ready for them. It had all happened so fast—one moment, they were working together, and the next, Aqualad was down, and it was his fault.

"I should have seen it coming," he whispered to himself, staring at his gloved hands. They felt stained with guilt, as if the blood of his friend was seeping into his very soul. He had been so focused on taking down the enemy that he had failed to protect his own. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he angrily wiped it away. He couldn't afford to show weakness.

His comms buzzed, and he heard the voices of his fellow Titans coming through, their words filled with grief and anger. They didn't say it outright, but he could hear the blame in their voices, feel it like a weight on his chest. "If only Damian had been quicker." "If only he had been more careful." "It's his fault Aqualad is gone."

He had tried to explain that it wasn't just him—that they were all in this together—but his words had fallen on deaf ears. They saw him as the son of Batman, the prodigy, the one who was supposed to be perfect. They didn't see the real him, the scared boy who felt like a failure, who had tried his best but still hadn't been enough.

Damian sighed, his heart heavy with the burden of guilt. He knew he should go back to the Tower, should face the others and apologize. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he turned away from the city, moving deeper into the shadows. He wanted to escape, to hide from the truth.

As he walked, memories of Aqualad flooded his mind. The way he had always encouraged Damian, always pushed him to be better. They had trained together, laughed together, and now... now he was gone. The realization hit him hard, twisting his gut. He felt like he was drowning in sorrow, gasping for air but finding only darkness.

Days passed, and Damian retreated further into himself. He avoided the other Titans, spending his nights training alone in the dark corners of the Wayne Manor. He pushed his body to its limits, hoping that physical pain could drown out the emotional turmoil raging inside him. But no matter how hard he trained, the guilt remained, an ever-present shadow that refused to fade.

He stopped eating, believing that if he could punish himself enough, maybe the pain would ease. He had lost his appetite, the thought of food making him feel nauseous. Alfred noticed the change, of course. The concerned glances and gentle questions only fueled Damian's sense of isolation. He didn't want pity. He didn't want help. He felt like he deserved this pain.

One evening, while training in the cave, he pushed himself harder than ever before. He punched the training dummy with every ounce of anger and sorrow he felt, sweat pouring down his face as he lost himself in the rhythm of his movements. But even as he fought, the whispers of doubt lingered in his mind.

"Maybe it would be easier if I wasn't here," he thought. The idea danced at the edge of his consciousness, taunting him like a siren's song. The thought terrified him and yet offered a strange sense of comfort. If he wasn't around, would anyone really miss him? Would it matter if he just disappeared?

After another grueling session, he collapsed on the floor, panting and exhausted. The darkness that had settled over him felt suffocating, and for the first time, he allowed himself to acknowledge the truth: he didn't want to live with the weight of this guilt. He didn't want to feel like a monster.

As he lay there, he closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to simply let go. To slip away from the pain, to silence the voices that blamed him for Aqualad's death. He could almost see it—a peaceful escape from the torment that had become his life.

But in that moment of despair, a voice broke through the darkness, pulling him back from the edge. "Damian?" It was Dick Grayson, his older brother, and the leader of the Titans. "I've been looking for you."

Damian opened his eyes, surprised to see Dick standing above him, concern etched on his face. For a moment, the walls he had built around himself began to crack. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"I want to talk," Dick replied gently, kneeling beside him. "I know you're hurting. We all are. But you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Why do you care?" Damian shot back, anger flaring up again. "It's my fault Aqualad is dead. I don't deserve your pity."

Dick's expression softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on Damian's shoulder. "You're not to blame for what happened. We all made choices that night. But pushing everyone away isn't going to help you heal."

Damian flinched at Dick's touch, pulling away as fresh waves of guilt crashed over him. "I can't help it. I just... I feel so lost."

"Then let us help you," Dick urged, his voice filled with genuine concern. "We're a team, Damian. We can get through this together."

But even as Dick spoke, a part of Damian felt the urge to retreat further. He didn't want to burden anyone else with his pain. He didn't want anyone's help. "I don't need you," he whispered, his voice trembling.

Dick sighed, the disappointment evident on his face. "I'm not going to give up on you, Damian. But you have to meet me halfway. We can't fix this if you refuse to talk about it."

With that, Dick stood up and walked away, leaving Damian alone once more. The emptiness swelled inside him, and for a brief moment, he felt a flicker of hope. But it quickly faded, swallowed by the darkness that had become his constant companion.

As the days turned into weeks, Damian continued to spiral deeper into despair. He distanced himself from the Titans, from Bruce, and even from Alfred. The guilt over Aqualad's death consumed him, a monster gnawing at his insides.

And in his isolation, he began to think that maybe it would be better if he were gone. No more pain, no more blame. Just silence.

One rainy night, as he stared out at the stormy sky, he made a decision. He wouldn't reach out for help. He wouldn't burden anyone else with his pain. Instead, he would take matters into his own hands, believing that maybe, just maybe, it was time to finally silence the chaos within him for good.

With tears in his eyes, he took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness, ready to embrace whatever awaited him. In that moment, he felt a sense of freedom. The weight of guilt was still there, but it was joined by a newfound resolve. If he couldn't be the hero everyone expected, then maybe it was time to be something else entirely.

And as he walked away from the light, he felt like he was finally in control.

- 10/09/2024