Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

The Last Mission

Damian Wayne stood at the edge of the rooftop, staring out over Gotham City. The sun was setting, casting a crimson hue over the skyline, but it felt like the world was fading to black for him. He could still hear the screams from the night before echoing in his ears—the screams of his fallen teammate, the cries of pain that he had been unable to prevent. The image of their lifeless body haunted him, twisting like a knife in his gut.

It had been just another mission with the Teen Titans. They had planned to take down a powerful new villain who had been terrorizing the city. Everything had seemed straightforward until it turned into chaos. Damian had made a mistake—one small miscalculation—and now, his friend was dead.

The blame had fallen squarely on his shoulders. "If only I had acted faster," he muttered to himself, fists clenched at his sides. "If only I hadn't hesitated..." But the "if onlys" offered no solace; they only served to deepen the wound.

The others tried to comfort him, but their words felt empty. He could see the pity in their eyes, the way they would look away when he entered a room, as if they feared he might shatter. They had every right to feel that way—he was a killer, after all. It didn't matter that he was trained to protect people; in the end, he had failed. And that failure was unforgivable.

"I should just leave," he thought, his mind racing with darker thoughts. He was a burden, a mistake that had cost someone their life. Maybe the world would be better off without him.

Days passed, and the weight of his guilt only grew heavier. He retreated further into himself, avoiding the Titans and the Bat family. He spent hours alone in the training room, pushing his body to the limit as a way to escape the memories. But no matter how hard he trained, the pain always came rushing back—uninvited and relentless.

One evening, he found himself wandering through the dark hallways of the Wayne Manor. The house felt like a ghost of what it once was, its walls echoing with memories of laughter and camaraderie. Now, it was just a reminder of his isolation. He could hear Bruce's voice echoing in his mind, filled with disappointment. "You let them down, Damian."

He made his way to the roof again, drawn to the edge where he had stood before. Below him, the city thrummed with life, unaware of the turmoil within him. He felt like a lost soul, untethered and adrift. As he looked down, the thought of jumping crossed his mind. It would be easy to just let go.

"Maybe this is what I deserve," he thought bitterly. "Maybe this is the only way to make things right."

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Tim standing behind him, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. "Damian, you need to talk to someone. You can't keep doing this to yourself."

Damian felt a surge of anger. "What do you know about it? You weren't there! You didn't see what happened! You don't understand!" His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

"Maybe not," Tim replied softly, stepping closer. "But I know that you're hurting. I know what it's like to feel responsible for someone's death. But you can't carry this alone. You're not alone in this, Damian."

"Leave me alone!" Damian shouted, shoving past Tim and moving toward the edge again. His heart raced, and he felt the pull of the abyss beneath him. "Just go! You don't get it!"

"Damian!" Tim's voice was firm, filled with urgency. "Please, don't do this. You're more than this moment. You're not a killer. You're a hero."

But Damian felt like a monster, trapped in a cage of his own making. The words fell flat, unable to penetrate the darkness that had settled over him. He didn't want to hear about being a hero or how he could move on. He wanted the pain to stop.

In a moment of despair, he stepped closer to the edge, the ground below seeming to call to him. "Maybe this is the only way to end the pain," he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Damian, don't!" Tim lunged forward, grabbing Damian's arm just as he teetered on the edge. "You can't! Think about your family, your friends. They need you. I need you."

But in that moment, nothing else mattered. The world around him faded, and he felt a surge of hopelessness that drowned out Tim's pleas. The guilt and despair swallowed him whole.

"I'm sorry, Tim," he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips. "I can't do this anymore."

With that, he broke free from Tim's grasp, and the last thing he saw was the shocked expression on his brother's face as he took the final step into the void.

The next few days were a blur of grief for the Titans and the Bat family. They searched for Damian, but the pain of his loss hung in the air like a dark cloud. Each of them felt the guilt and shame for not being able to reach him in time.

Tim was particularly devastated. He sat in the training room, surrounded by the remnants of their battles, haunted by the memory of their last conversation. "I should have done more," he murmured to himself, tears streaming down his face. "I should have fought harder to bring him back."

Bruce stood beside him, his face etched with grief and guilt. "I never wanted him to feel this way," he said, his voice heavy. "I thought he was stronger than this."

"But he wasn't, Bruce," Tim replied, anger rising within him. "He was struggling, and we didn't see it. We pushed him away when he needed us the most."

They all gathered in the cave, sharing memories of Damian—their laughter, their fights, the times he made them proud. But each memory was tainted with the knowledge that they had lost him, and now, nothing could bring him back.

In the days that followed, the Bat family and the Titans found themselves carrying a burden that would never truly lift. They had failed Damian, and the pain of that loss would haunt them forever.

The night fell, and Gotham was silent, but in the shadows, the echoes of Damian's laughter remained, a haunting reminder of the hero they had lost too soon.