Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

No Way Back

Damian Wayne stood on the rooftop of the League of Assassins' base, the wind cold against his skin. He stared down at the rocky terrain below, his mind free of hesitation. His decision had been clear from the moment he arrived—he belonged here, not in Gotham. With the League, he could embrace what he was always meant to be. There were no compromises, no endless lectures about morals or second chances. With the League, he could finally shed the chains of restraint.

Talia al Ghul, his mother, had welcomed him back with open arms, proud that her son had finally chosen his destiny. There was no need to steal him away this time—Damian had come willingly. But the League's teachings were not gentle. They tempered his mind like steel, sharpening it until it gleamed with precision.

This was where he belonged. Or so he told himself.

The Bat Family's assault on the League's compound was swift, precise, and devastating. They descended upon it under the cover of darkness, moving with the seamless coordination of predators on the hunt. Batman led the charge like a force of nature, his anger a cold and silent fury that drove every strike. He shattered the defenses of the compound with terrifying efficiency, his fists landing with the weight of unspoken rage. His cape billowed as he surged through the shadows, taking out assassins one after another without hesitation. It wasn't just a mission to him—it was personal. They had taken Damian, his son, and the thought of losing him again gnawed at his already scarred heart.

Close behind, the rest of the family followed in sync, each moving like an extension of the other. Nightwing was a blur of acrobatics, weaving between enemies, his batons crackling with electricity as they met their marks. Red Hood's guns barked in the night, his brutal approach leaving bodies scattered in his wake. Red Robin, ever the strategist, struck with precision, exploiting every weakness, his mind working three steps ahead even in the chaos. Batgirl flowed through the battlefield with deadly grace, her strikes controlled and efficient, showing no mercy to the assassins who dared stand between them and their lost brother. Each of them was united by a singular purpose—to get Damian back.

To them, this wasn't just a rescue; it was a mission to reclaim one of their own. Damian had been stolen from them—snatched away by Talia al Ghul, his mother, the woman they believed was trying to reshape him into the perfect weapon once more. They couldn't allow that to happen. Damian wasn't just an heir to the League of Assassins—he was their little brother, their son, and their friend. They wouldn't let the darkness reclaim him, not after everything he had fought to escape.

When they finally reached Damian, battered and bleeding but conscious, he didn't fight them. There were no protests, no defiant words. He just stood there, still as a statue, waiting. They mistook his silence for relief, assuming he was grateful to be rescued, but the truth was far more complicated. Damian didn't resist as Jason yanked him to his feet, his grip bruising, or as Bruce stepped forward with grim determination, his jaw clenched tightly beneath the cowl.

He knew better than to fight back. It would only complicate things—only spark another conflict that would make things worse. The Bat Family could be stubborn beyond reason, driven by their love and sense of justice, but also blinded by their assumptions. Damian had learned that the hard way. Arguing with them would be pointless. They were so sure Talia had manipulated him, twisted his mind once again. They thought they were saving him from a nightmare.

But as Damian glanced back, catching the flicker of confusion and hurt in his mother's usually unreadable eyes, he felt a strange weight settle in his chest. She didn't expect him to leave so easily. Neither did he.

Bruce hauled him into the Batwing without a word, the heavy silence between father and son more suffocating than any lecture. Damian sat there quietly, letting the hum of the engines fill the void. The others sat around him, relief in their eyes, unaware of the truth that simmered beneath the surface.