Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

The Demon's Heir

Damian Wayne had always been a boy trapped between two impossible identities. One side of him was the son of the Bat, an heir to a code of honor that vowed to protect Gotham without crossing the line into killing. The other side of him was the grandson of Ra's al Ghul, bred to become a ruler who could wield life and death without hesitation to enforce a world of order.

For years, Damian had fought to belong to both worlds. But the truth was unavoidable. Living by the Bat's rules made him feel weak, incomplete. Living by his grandfather's methods made him feel whole.

And so, the inevitable decision arrived.

Damian Wayne was tired.

Tired of trying to fit into a life that wasn't his. Tired of endlessly training under the Bat's moral code—one that tied his hands when all he wanted to do was end the evil he fought. Every mission with his father left him feeling like a dog chasing its tail, never achieving anything permanent.

The rogues they captured escaped time and time again. The same villains, the same chaos, and the same hollow victories. Damian knew that the system Bruce clung to so desperately was broken beyond repair. But his father refused to see it.

Damian had tried—tried harder than anyone knew—to be what Bruce wanted him to be. He held back when he wanted to end criminals for good. He followed the rules, buried his instincts, all in the hope that someday Bruce would trust him. But that day never came.

Every time Bruce lectured him about justice without killing, it felt like a slap in the face, as if his father didn't believe he could tell right from wrong. And with every arrest, every mission ending with a villain safely tucked behind bars, Damian felt a little more powerless.

He often questioned why he stayed. It wasn't for Bruce—at least not anymore. His father's expectations weighed him down, each lecture about justice without killing felt like a slap in the face, as if Bruce didn't trust him to know the difference between right and wrong. And with every arrest, Damian felt more powerless.

But if it wasn't Bruce keeping him there, then who? Dick? Alfred? Maybe once. But now? Damian couldn't tell if they cared about him or just the version of him they wanted him to be. The argument had started small—just a disagreement about capturing the Penguin. But, like every fight between Damian and his father, it exploded into something far deeper and uglier.

"That man deserved to rot," Damian spat, standing rigid before Bruce in the Batcave. "We had him, and you let him walk."

Bruce's voice was calm but firm, his face hidden behind the glow of the Batcomputer. "The system will handle him, Damian. It's not our place to decide who lives and who dies."

Damian felt a sharp sting of betrayal. "He'll kill again. You know it. Yet you sit back and watch criminals tear apart Gotham, pretending your rules are enough to stop them."

Bruce stood slowly, towering over Damian in that familiar, suffocating way. "We are not executioners."

"No, you aren't!" Damian shouted, his fists clenched. "But I could be. I could end this. I could end them all!"

Bruce's expression hardened. "You don't understand what you're saying."

"I understand perfectly," Damian growled, venom in his voice. "You hold me back because you're afraid. You want me to fit into your fragile, broken world, but I never will."

Bruce's silence confirmed the worst. Damian realized then that no matter how much he fought, how hard he tried, he would never be enough. He would never be the son Bruce wanted.