Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Fractured Reflection

The Batcave was silent, save for the low hum of the computers and the occasional drip of water echoing off the cave walls. Damian Wayne stood in the shadows, feeling more alone than ever. The weight of his most recent argument with his father still pressed heavily on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Bruce's cold, cutting words rang in his ears, as though they had been spoken only moments ago.

"You're reckless, Damian. You think you know better, but you're making the same mistakes. You're just like her."

Damian winced at the memory, the comparison to his mother, Talia al Ghul, stinging more than any physical blow ever could. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he fought to prove himself, he would always be seen as a reflection of her—a product of violence, coldness, and control. A weapon.

He had been trying to be more than that. He had been trying to show his father that he could be more, that he could be better. But it seemed that nothing he did was enough. He was always failing in Bruce's eyes, always the son who could never live up to the impossible expectations set for him. The son who didn't belong.

Damian's feet carried him deeper into the cave, past the familiar rows of suits and gadgets, past the giant penny and dinosaur that had become permanent fixtures of this strange, hidden world. His steps were aimless until his eyes caught something unusual.

A broken mirror, lying in pieces on the ground.

He didn't remember it being there before, but then again, the Batcave was full of forgotten things—remnants of old battles, discarded tools, abandoned pieces of Bruce's never-ending mission. Damian crouched down, his fingers brushing against the jagged edge of one of the shards. He lifted it, holding it in front of him.

His reflection stared back at him, but it wasn't whole. The crack down the center of the glass distorted his features, splitting his face into two incomplete halves. One side showed him as he appeared now: a hardened young man, his jaw set with determination, his eyes fierce and cold. But the other side—the broken side—seemed to reveal something else. Something deeper.

A boy who had never been enough.

The scar on his cheek caught his attention first. It was a small reminder of a battle long ago, a fight where he had been reckless, too sure of himself. He had won, but at a cost. And that scar was just one of many. The others weren't visible, not on his skin, but they were there—buried deep within him. Scars from years of being trained as a weapon, from being raised by his mother to kill without question. Scars from all the mistakes he had made since becoming Robin. The people he had hurt. The trust he had shattered.

He stared at his fractured reflection, and for the first time, he couldn't look away. The boy in the mirror was broken, just like the glass. Damian had spent so long trying to prove that he was strong, that he was more than the child his mother had raised him to be. But the truth was, no matter how many battles he fought, no matter how many lives he tried to save, he couldn't escape the damage that had already been done.

He was broken.

The realization hit him harder than he expected. He had always prided himself on his strength, his ability to fight through pain and push forward no matter what. But now, looking into the shattered mirror, Damian wondered if he was simply fooling himself. Maybe he wasn't as strong as he wanted to believe. Maybe he never had been.

His hand tightened around the shard of glass, the sharp edges pressing into his skin until he felt the sting of blood. The pain was real, tangible—something he could control. But the pain in his chest, the ache that came from feeling like he would never be enough for his father, for his family, that was something he didn't know how to fix.