Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

The Last Goodbye

Damian Wayne stood on the rooftop of Wayne Manor, looking out over the sprawling city of Gotham. The wind whipped through his dark hair, tugging at his cloak like it wanted to pull him away from this place forever. His mind raced with a mixture of anger and overwhelming sadness. The weight of everything that had happened between him and his family bore down on him. It was suffocating. Tonight, he had finally reached his breaking point.

The last few months had been a slow descent into isolation for Damian. At first, he had thought the distance between him and his family was temporary—that it was just a phase, that eventually things would return to how they used to be. But it never happened. The arguments with his father, Bruce, had grown more frequent and bitter, and no matter how hard Damian tried, it always felt like he was the one who was wrong.

Bruce, the ever-stoic Batman, had always been difficult to connect with, but recently, his coldness had felt like a slap in the face. Every interaction between them had been strained, tense. Damian couldn't remember the last time his father had spoken to him without that tone of disappointment lacing his voice. The weight of expectation was too much.

His brothers weren't much better. Dick, who had once been a role model for Damian, seemed to take Bruce's side on everything. No matter how many times Damian tried to explain himself, to express his side of things, Dick would just nod sympathetically but never really listen. Tim tried to help at first, but Damian's pride wouldn't let him accept it. And Jason, well, he didn't even care enough to intervene.

Damian felt trapped in a family that expected him to be perfect—a family that refused to see him for who he truly was, beyond the mask of Robin, beyond the son of Bruce Wayne. His past with the League of Assassins haunted him every day, a constant reminder of the blood on his hands, the darkness that clung to him. And now, he was drowning in it.

Earlier that evening, another argument had erupted during dinner. It started with something small—Bruce commenting on Damian's performance during a recent mission with the Teen Titans. But that small spark had ignited into a full-blown firestorm.

"You were reckless," Bruce had said, his voice cold and flat. "You put the team at risk."

Damian had clenched his fists under the table, his jaw tight. "I did what needed to be done. I saved them."

"You acted without thinking, Damian," Bruce had replied, his gaze piercing. "That kind of behavior will get someone killed."

"And what about you?" Damian had snapped, unable to hold back his frustration. "You're never around. You disappear for days, weeks, and you expect me to just follow your orders like a good little soldier when you decide to show up?"

The room had gone quiet. Dick shifted uncomfortably in his seat, while Tim looked away, clearly wanting to avoid the confrontation. But Bruce remained unfazed.

"I expect you to act like the hero you claim to be," Bruce had said evenly. "Not a child throwing a tantrum."

Those words had stung more than Damian cared to admit. In that moment, something inside him broke. He had pushed back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, and stormed out of the dining room before anyone could stop him.

Now, standing on the rooftop, Damian felt the anger and hurt coursing through him like a storm he couldn't contain. He thought back to all the times he had tried to be the son Bruce wanted—the Robin the city needed. But it was never enough. He would never be enough.

The truth was, he didn't belong here. Not in Gotham, not with the Bat-family, and certainly not as Bruce Wayne's son. His mother, Talia, had raised him to be a warrior, a weapon, and no matter how hard he tried to change, he couldn't escape that. He would always be the boy born to kill. The boy who had blood on his hands.