Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Unspoken Words

Third Person

The Wayne Manor dining room was filled with the warm, golden glow of evening light. The Bat family sat around the grand table, their voices intertwining as they talked about their recent successes. The clink of silverware against plates punctuated the conversation, but Damian barely noticed. He was seated at the far end, his eyes fixed on his untouched plate, his mind miles away from the animated discussions happening around him.

Dick was recounting his latest mission in Blüdhaven, the one where he had single-handedly taken down an entire crime ring. Tim chimed in with updates on his tech innovations for the team, and even Jason had a rare moment of pride as he spoke about his work with the Outlaws, his tone light but satisfied. Bruce, of course, nodded approvingly, offering encouragement and guidance where it was needed. Alfred moved in the background, silent but ever watchful, ensuring that everything ran smoothly.

And then there was Damian—silent, unseen, like a ghost at his own family's table.

He tried to focus on what they were saying, tried to feel something other than the creeping numbness that had been growing inside him for weeks. But it was hard to care when all he could hear was the unspoken message buried beneath their words: They don't see you. You're not good enough. You'll never be like them.

It wasn't that they meant to ignore him. He knew that. But it didn't stop the bitter truth from sinking in. Every accomplishment he made, every battle he fought, it was never enough. Not for Bruce. Not for the family. And certainly not for himself.

Damian clenched his fists under the table, his nails biting into the skin of his palms. The pain grounded him, a sharp reminder that he was still there, still trying to prove his worth. But how could he when everything he did seemed to pale in comparison to the others?

Dick, the first Robin, was the one who had set the standard. Charming, graceful, a natural leader. Tim was the tech genius, always ten steps ahead of everyone else. Jason, despite his troubled past, had carved out his own path, defying death itself to come back stronger.

And Damian? Damian was the son of Batman, trained from birth to be perfect, to be the best. But even that wasn't enough. No matter how hard he tried, he could never shake the feeling that he was nothing more than a shadow, an afterthought in a family full of legends.

"Damian?" Bruce's voice broke through his thoughts, a low rumble of concern. "You've been quiet tonight. How was patrol?"

Damian looked up, meeting his father's eyes for just a moment before glancing away. He could feel the weight of the entire table's attention shift toward him, a spotlight he didn't want.

"It was fine," Damian muttered, his voice barely audible.

"Just fine?" Dick teased, smiling. "Come on, D. There's always more to your patrol stories. Did you take down any big bads?"

"No," Damian said, his tone flat. "Nothing worth mentioning."

The table fell quiet for a second, a brief pause as everyone waited for him to elaborate. But when he didn't, they moved on. The conversation picked up again, shifting back to the others' achievements, leaving Damian in the background once more.

The hollow ache in his chest deepened. He wasn't angry at them—how could he be? They had their lives, their missions, their victories. They had earned the right to talk about them. But Damian couldn't shake the feeling that he was falling short, that he was the one piece in this puzzle that didn't quite fit.