Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Gone For Good

Damian Wayne stood in the doorway of Wayne Manor, his fists clenched tight as the last argument replayed in his mind. It was always the same: Bruce demanding more from him, telling him to act his age or be a team player. Dick's endless attempts to cheer him up only felt condescending. Jason treated him like a punching bag, and Tim... Tim barely tolerated his existence. Damian tried—tried to be the son they wanted, the brother they expected—but it was never enough. He felt like a weapon, not a person.

He wasn't needed here—just another tool in his father's endless war. Damian wasn't going to waste another second trying to prove himself. He had endured the constant judgment, the comparisons to his brothers, the suffocating weight of expectations.

Enough was enough.

That night, while the house slept, Damian quietly packed a duffel bag. His years of training allowed him to disappear without so much as a whisper—no alarms, no trails. A flight under a fake name, a train to the coast, and the next thing he knew, he was gone.

For good.

Damian found himself in Barcelona, a city vibrant with life. It was so unlike Gotham—there were no looming shadows, no oppressive darkness, no masks. For the first time in years, Damian could simply exist without the weight of expectations pressing down on him. Here, he was just another face in the crowd.

He rented a small, sunlit apartment above a bookstore owned by an elderly woman named Elena. She didn't pry into his past or ask too many questions. All she cared about was his help organizing the shelves and carrying boxes of books too heavy for her to lift. In exchange, she let him stay upstairs, and paid him just enough to get by.

Damian's new life was simple—quiet mornings spent in the bookstore, sipping espresso at the café down the street, and wandering the markets in the evenings. For the first time in his life, he wasn't on patrol, wasn't fighting villains, wasn't struggling to live up to some impossible ideal. There were no missions, no masks, no scars to reopen. He could just be himself.

He took up cooking, experimenting with local ingredients and learning to make meals from scratch. He adopted a stray cat that wandered the alley behind the store, naming it Sol. His days were peaceful, filled with small joys: the warmth of the sun on his face, the smell of fresh bread from the bakery, the simple pleasure of reading without interruptions.

In Spain, Damian had built something he never thought possible—a real, happy life. A life free of burdens.

Back in Gotham, the Bat Family was unraveling. At first, they thought Damian would come back on his own, as he had in the past. But as weeks stretched into months, they realized he was gone.

Panic set in. Bruce used every resource at his disposal, scouring every corner of the city and interrogating his underworld contacts. Dick called in every favor, hoping for some hint of his little brother's whereabouts. Tim stayed glued to the Batcave's computer, tracking flights and surveillance footage, but Damian had covered his tracks well. Even Jason—who had never fully gotten along with Damian—couldn't shake the gnawing guilt that maybe he'd driven the kid too far.

Bruce blamed himself. He should've known Damian felt isolated. "I pushed him too hard," he admitted quietly one night, an admission that felt like shards in his throat.

When a small lead emerged—a flight to Europe, followed by sightings in Spain—they latched onto it. Damian wasn't just their responsibility—he was family. They had to bring him home.

They found him on a warm afternoon in Barcelona. It was almost surreal—so unlike Gotham's grim, rainy streets. The family stood across the street from a little bookstore, watching through the glass as Damian helped a customer bag their books. He looked... happy.

There was no trace of the anger or coldness they had grown used to. Damian smiled—a genuine smile—while talking to the old woman behind the counter. He was dressed simply, in jeans and a light shirt, looking like any other teenager.

Bruce's chest tightened.

They had expected to find Damian living recklessly, drowning in anger and loneliness, but what they saw was something else entirely—a version of Damian they had never known.

When they finally stepped inside, the bell above the door chimed softly. Damian looked up, and for a moment, his face was unreadable. Then he sighed, as if he had been expecting this.

"You found me."

Dick took a hesitant step forward. "We came to bring you home, Damian."

"I am home."

Those three words hung in the air like a weight, silencing everyone.

Bruce's voice was low, strained. "You can't mean that. You belong with us. With your family."

Damian shook his head. "No, I belong here. For the first time, I'm not someone's soldier or burden. I'm just... me."

Jason crossed his arms, clearly frustrated. "So what, you're happy shelving books? This is your big dream?"

"Yes." Damian's gaze didn't waver. "I don't need a dream, Todd. I just need peace. Something none of you could ever give me."

Tim tried next, his voice softer. "We screwed up. We get that. But we can fix things—if you come back."

But Damian shook his head again. "I don't need you to fix anything. I'm not broken."

Bruce stood silent for a long moment, his heart heavy. "We've made mistakes, Damian. But we want to make things right. You don't have to do this alone."

"I'm not alone," Damian said quietly. "I have a life here—a good one. I don't need to be Robin anymore. I don't need Gotham."

Dick's shoulders slumped, and Jason cursed under his breath. Tim looked like he was trying to figure out a solution that didn't exist.

Bruce finally nodded, though it seemed to cost him everything. "If this is what you want... we won't stop you."

Damian's expression softened, just a bit. "Thank you, Father."

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat and rested a hand briefly on Damian's shoulder. "You'll always have a place with us. If you ever change your mind... we'll be waiting."

Damian gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "I know."

The Bat Family left the bookstore that day with heavy hearts, knowing they couldn't force Damian to return. He had found something they couldn't give him—a life free of expectations, where he wasn't defined by his past or his family name.

As they disappeared into the crowds of Barcelona, Damian watched them go from the doorway. Sol, the stray cat, brushed against his leg, purring softly. He bent down to scratch behind the cat's ears, feeling lighter than he ever had before.

He had made his choice, and for once, it was his alone.

Damian locked the bookstore door behind him and glanced up at the sun-drenched sky.

For the first time in his life, Damian Wayne was free.

And he wasn't looking back.